Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed
by Bethadots
Summary: The woman they call Rosalie Trevelyan is not a noblewoman at all but a bard sent to spy on the conclave by her Orlesian master. Becoming the Herald of Andraste was a lot more than she bargained for, and keeping her true identity a secret from everyone else is just another complication.
1. Point of no Return

**Chapter One: Point of no Return**

* * *

Lady Rosalie Trevelyan was supposed to go unnoticed. She was a fiction, after all. Sent to Haven by an Orlesian bard-master who needed eyes and ears in the conclave. It was the perfect cover to pose as a minor noble from a pious family in the Free Marches. The plan had been to learn as much as she could for her master and his patron, perhaps even whisper a few rumours here and there to sway things in their favour, but _certainly_ not to cause any kind of a stir.

Becoming the Herald of Andraste was about as far from the plan as it was humanly possible to get.

 _Keep moving. Don't look back. Almost there,_ she told herself.

Cold night air whistled through the streets as the woman at the heart of everything trudged through the snow towards Haven's gates. They'd be locked at this hour, but that powder she'd slipped into the guardsmen's hot cider would have taken effect by now. She'd still be able to sneak out unnoticed. Rosalie's hand glowed green as she tightened it into a fist and cracked her knuckles one by one.

 _I'm going to have to spend a fortune on gloves when I get home,_ she thought with a sigh, all too aware that the bigger problem was going to be making it that far undetected.

Behind her, she could still hear the faint sounds of celebrations continuing. Music, dancing, Varric telling stories by the fire and the Chargers drinking one another under the table. Perhaps in another life she might have been able to join in. She'd played her part well, after all. The templars had joined the Inquisition, the hole in the sky was mended. It might have been nice to relax and have fun for a while. Too bad it would probably get her killed.

No, it was best for the Herald of Andraste to disappear in the night never to be seen again, and for Rosalie to be long gone before the truth ever caught up with her. Now was the time. The snow would cover her tracks. With any luck, this would be a clean getaway.

Of course, if Rosalie _had_ any luck, she wouldn't be the one with the glowing hand.

She hurried around the corner to reach the front gates, then failed to hold in a gasp as she saw something other than the two sound asleep guards she was expecting.

"You're missing the party, boss." Iron Bull leaned with his back against the locked gate, arms folded across his chest and a look of amusement on his face.

"I was just getting some air," she insisted, a slew of curse words running through her head as she forced herself to maintain a neutral expression.

"Uh huh."

Rosalie smiled sweetly, "Why are you here? Your Chargers haven't finished off the casks yet. I thought you'd be helping them."

"Had this nagging little feeling something wasn't right, so I thought I'd take a walk. Found the two gate guards asleep on one another, so I threw them over my shoulders and carried them to their beds. Figured I'd stand around and hold their post until someone else came to take over," he said as casually as if describing a stroll in a meadow.

 _You mean you wanted to see who would come to sneak past them._ The Game Iron Bull played wasn't quite the same - the rules differed in subtle, often ineffable ways that put Rosalie on edge. It was like being led through a dance to which she didn't know the steps. A talent for dancing could only make up for so much.

In this moment, everything - perhaps even her life - depended on how well she reacted. The expression on her face had to be _just so,_ or she'd give everything away.

The corners of her mouth tugged upwards, and she raised her eyebrows just slightly. Surprise and amusement seemed the right tone to aim for. "So _that's_ where all the strong drinks ended up. I'd heard some of your boys complaining."

Iron Bull smiled, but it wasn't the smile of someone who believed the person in front of him. "What about you, boss?" He pushed away from the wall and stepped closer, presumably so he'd end up towering over her that much more. Her hands ached to reach for her daggers, but she feared he'd just snap her neck like a twig the moment she tried. The panic that thought brought with it left no room for the logical conclusion that killing her would leave the Bull with a much bigger problem than suspecting the Herald of Andraste couldn't be trusted.

"I was…" she paused to swallow, then cringed internally, aware that it gave away that she was nervous.

Tentatively, she reached up to tiptoe her fingers over his bare chest, a little surprised to find his skin warm even in weather cold enough to make her breath mist before her face. "I was looking for you," she told him, voice purposefully low and sultry, with just a hint of shyness thrown in for good measure as she looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and grazed her bottom lip with her teeth.

He raised an eyebrow, but it wasn't a look of surprise - more just amusement at her attempt to distract him with flirting. "And, uh, why's that exactly?" he asked in a low voice, leaning down just a little.

"Well..." she murmured, rising up on the tips of her toes so that their lips were nearly touching.

A slow smile spread spread across his lips as a hand as big as her face tipped her chin up so that their eyes met.

Rosalie shivered, and not entirely because of the cold. She was frozen like a halla who'd just heard an arrow being nocked. A part of her wondered what would happen if she simply kissed him - she was certainly curious what it would feel like. A smaller part wondered if confessing everything would make him take pity on her and help her get away. For the most part she just wanted to run.

She was saved from having to answer by the sudden ringing of a bell. It was a frantic pealing that cut across the din of the party. The sound made Iron Bull's hand drop away and as he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the Chantry, Rosalie took the chance to step back from him.

"Forces Approaching!" they heard. "To arms!"

"Shit. That's… probably not good," was all Iron Bull had to say in response in that.

Rosalie was inclined to agree.

* * *

Before the ringing of the bell, before the forces coming over the hill had even been sighted, Leliana had ordered her scouts to pull back. Only one of them hadn't reported in, but it was a gut feeling she didn't dare ignore. The wait for their return was so excruciating, it was a relief when Fisher had come to her with a rather strange pair of letters stolen from Ostwick.

"Both from Bann Trevelyan, both in his hand, yet saying completely opposite things. This makes no sense," she said once she'd finished reading. "I can't tell if the Herald is their proud scion or completely disowned."

"Maybe he was sitting on both and waiting to see how things panned out before he chose which to send? The Trevelyans are, by all accounts, a pious lot," Fisher pointed out, leaning over the letters that were splayed out across the war table. They'd come inside from Leliana's usual tent to escape the noise of the celebrations. "A smart man might wait to see if the breach closes before letting anyone know where things stand between him and his daughter."

Perhaps, but that didn't seem right either. Another one of those gut feelings. There was something familiar about Rosalie Trevelyan. Something Leliana couldn't trust. "Yet there's no shortage of distant relatives bragging about their connection to the Herald." Or hadn't been, at least, until they had been _encouraged_ to show a little modesty by the Inquisition. "Go. See if there is any sign of the others. I will worry about the Trevelyans."

She watched as Fisher nodded and hurried out the door, then turned back to the table and inhaled sharply as she found Cole standing right beside her.

"Up. Everyone keeps looking at the hole in the sky. Too busy to notice a puppet with severed strings. Struggling, scared, solitary, but at the center of everything. The task is finished. She should be happy but it frightens her more than ever that they will see."

The spymaster's eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped closer to Cole. "See what?"

He suddenly appeared over her shoulder, and it took every effort not to gasp as she turned to face him. "She is raw," he continued. "Exposed. A nerve inside a cracked tooth."

Leliana couldn't tell if he was talking about her or someone else, and she wasn't sure she wanted to ask. "Did you need something?"

"You are... missing some things." Cole vanished only to reappear in a crouched position on the war table. "A twisted ankle. An arrow in the shoulder. Fleeing, frightened, but alive. Arriving. And not alone."

Her brow furrowed. Spirit… demon… Whatever Cole was, she didn't need his riddles on top of everything else. "My scouts have returned?"

Suddenly the ring of the bell outside caught her attention and she looked to the door. When she glanced back to the table Cole had vanished, but there wasn't time to ponder that. There wasn't time to ponder the letters on the table and their contents either. She had to find Cullen.

It never occurred to her that it was the last time she would set foot in that room.

* * *

Even for the Iron Bull, the sight of a fucking archdemon arriving hadn't been a welcome one. Sure, it was enormous, terrifying and capable of gulping even him down in one bite if it _really_ tried, but it didn't stir him. Not the way the sight of that dragon in the Hinterlands that Rosalie hadn't let him fight had. It looked - and smelled - just… _wrong._

Its arrival changed everything. It took away the hope that most of the friends he'd made at Haven - not to mention his men - would get out alive. By this point if _any_ of them made it, he'd count it as a win - not that he was likely to be around to do any counting considering Rosalie had taken him along on what was likely a suicide mission to use the last trebuchet to buy everyone else time to escape.

Still… going down fighting Vints and an archdemon wasn't a bad end.

Especially _this many_ Vints. He'd lost count of how many waves had charged in at them but by now things were feeling more than a bit overcrowded. There were fighters coming at he and Cassandra from all angles, and far too many mages around for his liking. Still, Solas seemed to be doing a pretty good job of undoing some of their spells and he'd already learned you had to either charge straight through those glowing marks on the ground or just not step on them at all.

Of course knowing that didn't help when some asshole with a big sword pushed you onto one. He roared in pain as the mine erupted with flame and knocked him off his feet, then cringed as the asshole pressed in to follow through with an attack of his own.

 _Shit, I'm_ really _going to feel this one,_ Bull thought with an inward groan as he saw the greatsword swinging down towards him. It was quite a surprise when his attacker suddenly dropped his weapon and let out a pained sound that Bull instantly recognized as him gurgling up blood thanks to a pierced lung. The man dropped to his knees, revealing Rosalie standing behind him, removing her daggers from his back. She gave Iron Bull a curt nod, then vanished from sight, only to reappear behind one of their smug Vint mages only seconds later. He grunted, a little grin coming to his face as he stored the memory for... _later_. _Taarsidath-an halsaam._

It was hard to believe the woman fighting at his side was the same one he'd met earlier at the gates. He was certain _that_ woman had been on the verge of disappearing forever and leaving some ugly secret exposed in her wake. _This_ woman was fighting for all of them. This woman was probably going to die to save those who were fleeing. This woman was incredibly good at coming in to flank when the enemy least expected it, he noted, his approval causing a rumble to sound in his chest.

That last mage was a real handful, managing to knock everyone on their asses at least once, and he had to growl in frustration every time the woman suddenly vanished to reappear further away from him. Eventually though she got herself frozen by Solas and then slammed by Cassandra's shield and that was that. Not a healthy combination of moves for anyone.

The last of them out of the way - for the moment, at least - he held out a hand for Rosalie and easily hauled her back up onto her feet. She only took a brief moment to breathe and wipe the sweat from her brow before she rushed to the trebuchet to continue re-aiming it. They'd only get one shot at burying Haven, most likely. This had to be done right or the Inquisition would fall then and there. It had to be perfect.

"You know, you could let _me_ turn that thing," Bull pointed out as Rosalie grunted, sweat dripping down her brow as she turned the wheel of the mechanism.

"He's just as likely to break the wheel and ruin our chances," Cassandra protested.

Solas raised an eyebrow and asked, "You'd rather the one-eyed man with superior strength kept watch?"

With a small sigh, Rosalie stood aside to let him turn the wheel. "When it's in place, you three run to the Chantry. I'll fire the trebuchet when you're clear," she ordered. "I'll follow if I can."

None of them bothered to argue. They'd known survival was a slim chance the moment they'd stepped out of the Chantry. If any of them could make it, it was the one woman who'd survived the explosion that had started this all.

The effort of turning the wheel made the sweat drip down Bull's body, washing off some of the dried-on blood stains with it as it did. He wasn't even aware of that. His eyes were fixed on the trebuchet, watching as it edged closer to the exact angle they needed.

He grunted out a little, "Yes!" as it clicked into place, allowing himself a little sigh of relief. Maybe this plan of Cullen's was just crazy enough to work. If they survived this, he'd have to buy the man a drink later.

He was aware of seeing Rosalie's expression change in the corner of his eye, but he didn't have time to follow her gaze, before she barked, "Move! Now!" and threw herself to the ground to dodge out of the way of a torrent of flame igniting the ground where she'd stood just seconds before.

Bull immediately followed after Solas and Cassandra as they started to run. They had a clear path back the way they'd come as far as he could tell, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.

It wasn't until they were almost to the doors of the Chantry that he paused to glance back to where the trebuchet stood.

He'd hoped to see Rosalie on the verge of firing the damn trebuchet. His heart sank at the sight of… whatever that demon… darkspawn… _thing_ was, holding her up off the ground by her wrist like a rag doll. She'd fought like a hero that night - she didn't deserve to be left behind with that monster.

Cassandra paused to look back at the sight as well, letting out a brief sigh before she nudged Bull with her shield and told him to keep moving. And she was right. An order was an order, after all. Even if their plan had failed, they'd bought the others some time at least.

With a sigh, Iron Bull forged ahead, checking back frequently to make sure Solas was keeping up. He wasn't so worried about Cassandra - he couldn't imagine there was much she couldn't shield bash out of her way if she needed to.

It wasn't until the three of them found their way to the path behind the Chantry that they heard a sound they almost didn't dare believe. The crashing of a boulder into the mountainside, followed by a rumble as the ground itself began to shake.

Iron Bull paused and looked back, seeing those mountains that had always formed the backdrop of their view from Haven suddenly seem to crumble as a tide of snow swept towards what was left of the village.

"It appears our Herald has achieved the impossible again," Solas mused in a breathy voice.

"Go!" Cassandra bellowed, breaking into a sprint. The other two were right behind her, running as fast as they could to avoid being buried along with Haven.

 _Hold onto that luck,_ Bull thought, dimly aware of the archdemon letting out a roar as it launched into the sky somewhere behind them. _Because I owe you a big fucking drink after tonight._


	2. Waiting for the Dawn

Chapter Two: Waiting for the Dawn

* * *

Rosalie's mind roiled like a stormy sea as she trudged through the snow. Memories of fleeing Ferelden over snow-capped mountains as a girl mixing together with the words of a terrible creature who thought itself a god made it hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Or perhaps injury and exhaustion were to blame.

 _So be it,_ the voice growled in her mind. _I will begin again. Find another way to bring this world the nation - and god - it requires._

She had seen the face of her enemy and lived, but the price was a painful realization; it was never going to end. The thought occurred that perhaps letting the snow bury her was her only true chance of escape. Still, her feet kept moving.

 _You will not fail me._ Another voice came to her thoughts, one that was stern yet gentle all at once. _You cannot fail me. Already when I found you, you had survived despite the odds. I have trained you, given you every tool you need to succeed. Now make me proud._

"Yes, Master," she breathed, not realizing she'd said the words aloud.

Eventually the remains of a fire came into view, embers still warm. After that it wasn't long before she found footprints that the wind hadn't yet erased. The smell of cooking stew and the sound of voices carried to her on the wind. The howl of a wolf in the distance made her pick up her pace, as did the knowledge that she didn't have the strength to carry herself much further.

"There, it's her!" she soon heard Cullen shout.

"Thank the Maker!" That was Cassandra's voice. Welcome sounds to tired ears.

Rosalie didn't even have the strength to raise her head to look at them. Her legs buckled beneath her in that moment and she sank to her knees with a sigh of relief.

* * *

From there, she could only recall brief patches of clarity. Cassandra carrying her to a hastily built camp on top of the mountain and Cullen complaining that he could have done it. Being bundled up in a bedroll with Vivienne there to warm her with magic and complain in that Vivienne sort of way that only showed she cared, not that she would admit it. And of course Cole lingering nearby, occasionally muttering words that made sense to nobody but her, words that somehow managed to make everything seem slightly less hopeless.

Mother Giselle was there more often than not. Rosalie imagined she liked to stay close to the wounded so that she could pray for them and guide them to the Maker's side when necessary. She suspected Giselle was hoping to offer Rosalie some friendly advice too, but it was hard to think what could be said considering the woman didn't know the whole truth. Nobody did. Or so she hoped...

"You know, I keep going over it in my head. I can't quite get why you were trying to run away." This time she'd opened her eyes to the sight of Iron Bull sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her bedroll. Even now he wasn't wearing a shirt.

"You _do_ realize it's snowing out? If you're not careful, Mother Giselle's going to knit you a scarf," she teased.

"Hmm. Not really into wearing stuff someone could easily use to strangle you..." he answered, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "And no changing the subject. I'm serious here, boss."

"Boss?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"After you faced down that thing? That's going to change what a lot of people call you from now on, if I'm any judge. And don't think I didn't notice that you did it again."

Rosalie blinked, an all-too-innocent impression on her face. "Did what?"

"Mhmm. Ben-Hassrath are taught to be good at changing the subject, too." His face was mostly serious, but there was a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth that told him he was at least slightly amused.

Well fine, she could acknowledge the question, even if she was hoping not to answer it. "Why are you so sure I was running away?"

"Ben-Hass- You know, it's almost like you don't believe I'm really a spy," he said, feigning offence at the notion.

She smiled tiredly. "You don't exactly seem the type. Most spies don't like to stand out as much as a shirtless Qunari so large he has to duck down in doorways so he doesn't bash his horns on the lintels. And most don't announce themselves at the earliest opportunity."

"No. They don't," he agreed, giving her a very pointed look.

Rosalie swallowed, but didn't break his gaze. If she looked away, he'd definitely know, though she suspected he'd already reached the right conclusion on his own.

After an awkward moment of silence, Iron Bull finally sighed. "Listen… I don't know if you're really chosen by some prophet or just the person who was in the right place at the right time, but either way, whoever ended up with a mark like that on their hand wouldn't have been expecting it. However you came to be here, whatever you were before, might not matter as much as you think it does. Shit, I saw you face down some twisted, deluded Vint asshole who thinks he's a god while the rest of us ran for safety." He shrugged. "Whatever you were before, you saved us today."

Without really thinking about it, she reached out and grasped his hand. Later she would blame it on exhaustion, but in the moment she simply knew that she _needed_ to feel warm skin against hers, _needed_ someone to accept her, even if only for a short while.

For a moment he seemed to stiffen at the touch, and she wondered if it was out of fear of the green mark on her palm or some deeper reason. His hesitation only lasted a moment, however, and then she watched her hand disappear into his great paw as he closed his fingers and squeezed gently. He didn't comment, just bowed his head, silently acknowledging her need.

She soon grew self-conscious about the touch and tugged her hand away, and Iron Bull nodded, slowly rising to his feet. He left without a word, and Rosalie stared down at her hand until her eyelids became heavy and she had to surrender to sleep once more.

* * *

Their journey wasn't quite as miserable as it could have been given the circumstances, the Iron Bull noted, but it wasn't fun by any stretch of the imagination. People were succumbing to their injuries every day, and the cold wasn't making it any easier for anyone to rally. The people had been given hope by the Herald's return from what seemed like certain death, but they'd been following her through through the snow for days and nobody seemed to have any idea where she was taking them. The one chance the Iron Bull had had to corner her and ask, she'd said something about Solas searching the Fade to find them a path, and that sure as shit didn't fill him with confidence.

Still, his boys were faring well all things considered. He looked to each of them in turn and smiled at how lucky they'd been so far. It was nice not to have any more deaths on his conscience.

"Hey, Tiny," Varric called as he approached the group. The nickname made one corner of Bull's mouth lift with amusement. "They're saying it's just about time to move out."

Bull didn't ask after Rosalie. If there were anything worth mentioning, Varric wouldn't need to be prompted. "Horns up, Chargers," he grunted, lifting Dalish up onto his back. The elf had suffered an ankle injury in the escape from Haven, and since she barely weighed as much as Bull's sword, it had been no hassle to carry her over the mountains, though Grim, Stitches and Krem had each taken turns as well.

"Ready to move out, chief," Krem quickly reported.

"Feel like some company?" Varric offered, moving beside Iron Bull at a similar pace - which was impressive considering how much shorter his legs were. "I'm getting a little tired of hearing Vivienne and Blackwall. He brings out her ice queen side and it's cold enough out here already."

They let others pass them as they moved. Bull liked to keep his boys in the middle of the caravan. Cullen had soldiers scouting all around and a large group of them bringing up the rear in case any of Corypheus' army caught up with them. The Chargers could do the most good staying with the non-fighters, just in case of an ambush.

"You'll be pestered with questions," he warned Varric, glancing over his shoulder to see that Dalish had brightened somewhat at the prospect of the dwarf walking with them. "They've been enjoying your guard serial."

"Dalish wants Maysie and Belladonna to somehow end up together," Krem scoffed in a tone that made _his_ feelings on the matter quite clear.

Varric raised his eyebrows, amusement there in his face as if he might be thinking of the people he'd based the characters on. "Even though they never meet?" he asked Dalish.

"Haven't met _yet,"_ Iron Bull corrected, grinning at his lieutenant, who rolled his eyes.

"Ah, so you _have_ read my book," Varric observed, smirking at the prospect.

"We've been taking it in turns to read aloud around the campfire," Dalish explained from over Bull's shoulder. "Skinner does the best voices."

"It does read pretty well when Donnen sounds ready to murder everyone," Bull admitted, recalling how excited Skinner tended to get when reading the fight scenes. " _Really_ lets you know he's not going to take any crap."

"I'll have to stop by and listen sometime," the dwarf laughed.

The afternoon of trudging through the snow was made a bit more pleasant by the distraction of Varric being stuck in the middle of Krem and Dalish's arguments about his book. Especially when Skinner got involved. It made the fact that they seemed to be climbing a particularly steep mountain less noticeable, at any rate.

Before long, they moved on from asking him questions about Donnen Brennokovic to asking the dwarf to start writing stories about them. They started to regale him with tales of their antics, and Bull was pretty proud to note that they really weren't exaggerating.

"You seriously won by breaking the dam?" Varric asked Bull, laughing as Krem finished telling the one about them beating Gattler's Giants.

"I was _dam_ impressive," Iron Bull answered, winking at Krem, who groaned loudly.

" _And then the Chargers swam to safety,"_ Varric said in his storytelling voice, tapping his chin as he considered it. "I've heard worse endings."

"Well don't _dam_ us with faint praise," Krem replied, earning a barked laugh from the Iron Bull.

There were some kind of commotion up ahead, and people seemed to be drawing to a halt. He saw Rosalie and Solas standing up ahead on a high ridge that overlooked… something. Whatever they were looking for, Bull guessed they'd found it. He resisted the urge to break into a jog, but even he picked up his pace a bit before they'd caught up to see what all the fuss was about.

Dalish was positioned on his shoulders by that point, and he heard her gasp just before it came into view. _Well now._ That's _quite the keep…_

"Huh. How's, ' _And then we found a big damn castle and moved in,'_ for a plot twist?" Varric asked, drawing up beside them.

Bull scratched at the base of one of his horns. "Pretty good for the Inquisition, at a guess," was his reply.

* * *

In the days that followed their arrival at Skyhold, more kept arriving. There had been too much to do, too much to organize. It had taken almost a week for Leliana to figure out which of her scouts were even still alive, and far too many weren't. Jobs had to be filled left, right and centre, and for every role that hadn't been filled, more problems she should have easily been able to delegate landed in her lap. Needless to say there had been little time for rest.

Through all of that, there had been days of arguments that had simmered down to fervent debate. In the end, though, Cassandra was right. The Inquisition needed someone to look to. No matter her past, no matter all the things Leliana's spies had failed to make sense of, Rosalie Trevelyan was their best answer. Without her, they never would have healed the sky. She had faced down Corypheus and lived, and she had brought them here, to this place.

Leliana adjusted the sword in her arms, eyes watching like a hawk, almost unblinkingly, as Cassandra spoke to the Herald of Andraste and led her up the staircase. "The Inquisition needs a leader," the Seeker was saying. "The one who has already been leading it. You."

That was the truth of it, no matter the spymaster's misgivings. Already she was certain that the decision would hurt them later on, but times were desperate now. Whatever came later, Leliana knew that she and Josephine would just have to combine their expertise and bury it.

It was to be expected that Rosalie looked unsure. Anyone in their right mind would be, let alone someone with something to hide. "It's unanimous? You all have that much confidence in me?" she was asking Cassandra.

Leliana's lips twitched in slight amusement as she noted the ever so brief glance in her direction.

"I have to believe this is meant to be," Cassandra said earnestly. "There would be no Inquisition without you."

Truer words were never spoken, and as Leliana handed over the sword, she pondered their further meaning, pondered the possible consequences for all of them if Rosalie turned out to be a disaster.

"Your leader," Cullen soon roared. "Your Herald." He raised his sword to the sky. "Your Inquisitor!"

 _For better or worse,_ a cynical voice in Leliana's mind added, as furious cheering and applause erupted, echoing off Skyhold's walls. Rosalie raised her sword to the sky as well, and the cheers became so loud that they drowned out all thought. It was done, and there was no going back now.


	3. Horns up!

Chapter Three: Horns Up!

* * *

Rosalie Trevelyan was drunk.

That certainly hadn't been the intent when she'd agreed to meet Iron Bull at the Herald's Rest so that he could introduce his company. It had just sort of… _happened._ Though she got the impression it _just sort of happened_ rather a lot around the Chargers.

As for _why_ she'd let it happen? Her day before meeting the Chargers hadn't exactly been very relaxing. Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen had met just a few hours ago over their imminent need to go to the Winter Palace and prevent the assassination of Empress Celene.

Even if Rosalie had been the noblewoman she said she was, that wouldn't have been a mission to look forward to. As a bard, it was probably exactly where she would have been if this Corypheus nonsense had never begun. Yet she knew the thought of going would keep her awake at night for a while to come.

Her worlds were going to collide. That was guaranteed now, though she had always expected it would come sooner or later. Her bard master hadn't been in touch yet as she'd expected, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten about her. It didn't mean those she worked with in Orlais had forgotten, and it certainly didn't mean her enemies had.

She had come to the conclusion that she'd need to discuss this with Leliana and the other advisors sooner or later. Still she dragged her feet, trying to gauge what their reactions might be, hoping something would come up that meant they didn't have to attend Celene's gathering. That became less likely by the day, and today's meeting on the matter had made it clear that she needed to reconcile herself with the idea of appearing bare-faced at court to represent the Inquisition. With any luck, nobody would recognize her out of the usual mask.

For now? Drinking seemed like a good idea. Drinking with the Chargers, doubly so.

"No man can beat the Chargers, 'cause we'll hit you where it hurts," she sang loudly, looking to Dalish for approval to make sure she wasn't getting the words wrong. "Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts..." Her brow furrowed, then she asked, "What does _loose cards_ even mean?"

"They're... you know... loose!" Dalish offered unhelpfully, an answer which made Rosalie laugh.

"You don't even know?"

Rocky nudged Rosalie with his elbow, then nodded to her mug. "It means you need to drink more. When it makes perfect sense, then you know you're drunk enough."

Accepting that, Rosalie took another swig from her mug, then continued the song. "For every bloody battlefield, we'll gladly raise a cup." Everyone around her raised their cups and joined in for the last line. "No matter what tomorrow holds, our horns be pointing up!"

Behind the bar, Cabot the bartender rolled his eyes, shook his head and went back to mopping his counter with a wet rag, an impatient look on his face like he'd heard that song a few times too many that night. And the night before. And several before that.

"How was I?" Rosalie asked her drinking companions.

"Hmmm..." Dalish tapped at her lip as she considered her answer, then looked to Stitches for help. "It didn't sound quite right."

"That's because she wasn't off-key," the Fereldan grunted in that gravelly voice of his.

Rocky laughed and elbowed Rosalie again. "That means you need to drink more!"

And drink she did.

From there, she and the Chargers taught each other the best drinking songs they knew, and when they ran out of those, they began adding verses to the Chargers' song; one for each member.

It was Rocky who suggested that for Krem's verse they all stand on their chairs, and by that point Rosalie was all too willing to follow his move. Dalish tried, but was a bit too tipsy by that point to really manage to pull herself up, and soon ended up rolling around on the floor.

Krem just scoffed, rolled his eyes, and kept drinking.

Suddenly Iron Bull was standing in front of Rosalie, their heights just about even now. It was odd being at eye-level with the man. She wasn't sure where he'd been the last little while, but she suspected it was in the back room with one of the serving girls.

He smiled and pressed his forefinger to her forehead. Rosalie didn't notice herself go cross-eyed as she focused on that finger, nor was she sober enough to correct her balance in time to prevent a fall backwards. Luckily Bull seemed to have been expecting that and was quick to catch her. "How about we get some air, boss?" he suggested. As she went to answer, he tossed her over his shoulder. "Upsy-daisy."

She was drunk enough to not be mortified by the chorus of cheers as he carried her outside. In fact, as the shutting of the tavern's door muffled the sounds within, she found herself laughing. "Do Qunari say _upsy-daisy_?" It seemed like such a strange thing for a horned giant to say, after all.

She felt him shrug. "This one does."

"You know, people will talk if they see the Inquisitor being carried off to her room like this," she teased.

"True. But we're not going to your room. We're going up to the battlements so you can get some air, clear your head. Better idea than trying to match Rocky drink for drink."

Well, she couldn't exactly deny that. "I like your crazy bunch of assholes," she told him as he climbed them up the steps that led from the side of the tavern up to the battlements. "Sort of like a very fun, drunk family, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know," he reminded her.

"I'm not sure I would either," she confessed, aware it was only the alcohol letting her say even that much. Iron Bull didn't comment, though she was certain he'd made a mental note of that for future reference.

They reached the top of the stairs and Bull set her down, keeping a hand on her back to help with balance as her legs wobbled beneath her for a moment. There was a guard on duty, she noticed. There were places he could have brought her where no one would see them, but he'd placed them near a guard so that she knew two things for certain without him having to tell her. Firstly: that this wasn't about getting her alone for sex. Secondly: that she was safe. Ish. Rosalie was certain that she - unarmed and drunk - plus one Skyhold guard were not a match for the Iron Bull, but the message was received all the same.

"I heard the singing. You've got a big voice for such a small chest," he noted.

Rosalie feigned offence at that. "Some ladies might not take kindly to you commenting on the size of their chest," she pointed out.

The corner of Bull's mouth lifted into an almost-smile. "Bards are musicians, right? They're good singers, most of them."

The smile on her face slipped before she could stop it. "That's what they say, yes."

If anything, the answer seemed to be expected by Bull. "It took me a while to get a good read on you. You remind me a lot of the Tallis. They're... the bards of the Qun, I guess you could say. Even before Haven I got hints of it from you, but since they named you Inquisitor..."

"What?" Rosalie asked, a deep frown on her face.

"You're used to following orders, not giving them. Haven't had to think for yourself before. Most who looked closely would assume that's from a controlling parent or something, but that doesn't explain why you always seem like you're planning your escape just in case you need it. _That_ is how a spy thinks."

Suddenly feeling like she'd been backed into a corner, Rosalie's breath began to quicken, which was difficult to hide given her inebriated state. "Maybe we Trevelyans are just a shifty bunch."

"Maybe. Doesn't change my point though."

Resisting the urge to deflect with an obvious joke about his _point,_ she simply asked, "Which is?"

"Half of Thedas is looking to you to lead them through a dark time. And you're here waiting for orders from the person who usually tells you what to do."

"It's not like I _asked_ for any of this," she reminded him. "And I'm not sure what you want from me. Are you telling me to do better? Warning me that you're about to report to the Qunari that there's a useless impostor running the Inquisition? What?"

Bull smiled softly. "Maybe it's as simple as this: I know you're a spy. You know I'm a spy. And both of us know that Corypheus needs to be stopped. You play your role as the Inquisitor, I'll play mine as the big dumb bodyguard. And if you need a person to be… _not_ the Inquisitor around, I can be that for you."

Rosalie thought about that for a while. Someone who she didn't need to pretend with… Given that he was openly spying on them, he seemed just about the worst choice. But maybe that was why he was the _right_ choice. He was right that he was someone who could understand better than just about anyone else. She couldn't trust him exactly. But if she couldn't fool him, there wasn't much to lose in setting her role aside in private either.

"I think I'd like that," she agreed, giving him a faint smile.

"And maybe you talk to Red about this?" he suggested. "From what I've heard, she's no stranger to… what's that Orlesian way of putting it? 'The Game?'"

"Maybe I'm waiting for the right moment," she answered, tilting her head back to look at the stars as if they were far too distracting for her to possibly give this discussion her full concentration. "And maybe now you'll stop trying to figure me out, hmm?"

He chuckled. "I still want to know why you sound Fereldan when you're drunk."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "So what you're saying is that I shouldn't be drinking?"

"That would be a shame."

That brought a playful smile to her face. "Oh? You want me with my guard down? Makes your job easier, I suppose, Mr. Ben… Hashmash."

"Ben- _Hassrath_ ," he corrected, lips twitching with amusement. "And maybe I just like seeing you let your hair down a bit."

Rosalie worked her fingers into her hair, tugging out the pins that held her braided updo in place until her raven hair tumbled down her back, all the way down to her elbows. "You like my hair, do you? Good to know." If she remembered doing that come the morning, she would certainly roll her eyes at herself.

Bull smirked. "I'm not holding that back for you if you need to spew over the battlements."

"Just as long as you're not throwing _me_ over the battlements, I'm happy," she countered. "And I think I can manage to find my way back to my quarters from here. Thanks for the company, Bull."

He inclined his head. "Any time, Boss."

* * *

In the morning, a note arrived from Bull asking her to meet with him. She assumed it would be about the night before, what he'd revealed he knew about her and his offer to be the one person she didn't need to wear her mask with. Which was why it was a surprise to find him busy sparring with Krem.

Given how much she'd managed to drink while the Chargers had been buying, it was hardly a surprise, if still unwelcome, that the clash of steel echoing through the training yard made her head pound. All the same, she stood and watched them exchange blows and well-meaning insults for a while. Besides, even her headache wasn't enough to distract her from the rather captivating view of sweat trickling down Bull's expansive bare chest.

She didn't _think_ he'd caught her staring by the time he stepped back from Krem and turned to face her. His face was all business, in fact. "Glad you came by. I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red."

Rosalie was wary of a mission working with the Qunari - anyone in their right mind would have to be. She had to admit, though, that the knowledge they were offering in exchange would certainly be a boon to the Inquisition, and it was certainly true that Corypheus was the sort of foe worth putting aside differences for.

In the end what made her accept was Iron Bull. He seemed wary as well, and all he had to say for his hesitation was, "I'm used to them being… _over there."_

She had to wonder if perhaps this mission would give her some insight into a man who was fascinatingly difficult to read. A man who she wanted to trust but knew she shouldn't given who he worked for. A man who genuinely seemed to love the mercenaries he surrounded himself with, despite the fact that they were only supposed to be his cover.

It would be interesting to see what came of this for the Inquisition, but more interesting still to see what she could learn about the Iron Bull.

* * *

It was raining along the Storm Coast as the Iron Bull led them to the rendezvous point. Just like it had rained when he'd first met with Rosalie and her companions. Just like it was _always_ raining along the Storm Coast.

Sera and Varric had passed the time playing I Spy for a while, but since _something beginning with B_ always meant _boulder,_ and _something beginning with S_ always meant _the sea,_ that had grown old fast. Soon enough, Varric had declared that _B_ was for _bull_ and _S_ was for _shit,_ and the group had continued to trudge towards their meeting with Bull's contact in damp, miserable silence.

It wasn't long after they came to a camp that had already been set up further back from the cliffs that an elf emerged to greet them. Bull could tell Gatt was a surprise for Rosalie, who hadn't known enough about the Qun not to expect a giant with horns - though he was sure she realized that an elf who could easily go unnoticed certainly made more sense than The Iron Bull for spy work.

"Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron."

Gatt bowed to Rosalie. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work."

He caught her eyes narrowing slightly at that. Apparently Rosalie didn't like the reminder that she shouldn't trust Bull any more than Bull himself did. "Iron Bull's name is Hissrad?" she asked. Bull chuckled inwardly at her pronunciation.

"Under the Qun we use titles, not names," Gatt explained.

"My title was 'Hissrad,' because I was assigned to secret work," Bull added. "You can translate it as 'Keeper of Illusions' or-"

"'Liar,'" Gatt interrupted. "It means Liar."

"Well you don't have to say it like _that,"_ Bull muttered indignantly. As he'd expected, this collision of the two separate worlds he belonged to wasn't going to be easy. Already the people whose trust he'd worked so hard to win were being reminded of exactly what he was. Not that they didn't know he was a spy, but well… they had no way of knowing how _competent_ a spy. Gatt's words weren't going to do Bull's mission at Skyhold any favours. Still, he understood what the elf was trying to do.

Rosalie gave a smile that was too polite to be friendly and said, "It's so nice to hear people say good things about me in their secret spy reports."

"He does." Gatt's gaze drifted to Bull. "But they aren't really secret, are they?"

Yeah, he got it. Gatt was worried about him slipping, forgetting the Qun, becoming _true grey._ This was all a not-so-subtle reminder of where his loyalties should lie.

Their conversation moved on to the real reason they were freezing their asses off in the rain: the mission. Simple enough, but risky. The Qunari had brought in one of their dreadnoughts to put an end to a Venatori operation to smuggle red lyrium north. The Venatori had two camps on the ground, which would need to be wiped out simultaneously to protect the dreadnought. The Bull, Gatt, and the Inquisitor's party would take down one, and Krem would lead the Chargers to take down the other. More room for something to go wrong than he'd like, but it was the best plan they had, and better by far than doing nothing.

Krem and the boys weren't worried enough, and Bull spent a good while reminding them to watch their backs right up until Krem sighed, "Yes mother…" to get him to stop.

While speaking with his men, he was aware of Rosalie and Gatt discussing him, but he wasn't close enough to eavesdrop.

Once they set out, they had an easy enough time fighting their way uphill to the camp. Bull could tell Gatt was eager to show what he could do, his ability to keep calm and think smart rather than charge in full of fury as his nickname - from the word _gaatlok_ \- suggested. Bull had been the one to save him from that slaver and bring him over to the Qun, after all. He'd come a long way, and that was good to see.

When everyone in the Venatori camp was dead, they fired the flare, signalling to the dreadnought that it was safe to move in. The Chargers' signal had already been fired by then, to Bull's relief. The dreadnought crashing through the waves and firing its cannons was a majestic sight, stirring up a nostalgia that he hadn't felt for quite some time.

That feeling was short-lived, however, and Bull breathed out a foreboding, "Crap…" as he saw Venatori reinforcements making their way up the beach towards the swallowed, knowing in an instant the choice they were about to face.

"They've still got time to fall back if you signal them now," Rosalie said urgently.

"Your men need to hold that position, Bull," Gatt reminded him.

Yeah… that choice.

Let the Chargers die, let _Krem_ die _,_ or lose any right to call himself Qunari after everything he'd lived through in Seheron. Gatt frantically spouted off all the reasons it would be the worst thing he could do, but it was a waste of breath. He already knew them. And yet…

"They're my men," he heard himself say.

Bull looked helplessly to Rosalie, at a loss for what to decide and aware that it was rightfully her choice to make. The irony of the moment after he'd criticised her for waiting around for orders was not lost on him.

"Call the retreat," she said firmly.

It was an odd feeling to breathe a sigh of relief even while dread sank to the pit of his stomach. His mind was too highly trained not to be examining every possible consequence as he raised the horn to his lips and blew out the sound that would seal his fate once and for all.

"They're falling back," he reported in a stiff voice as he watched his men disappear from view. He couldn't help but feel guilty realizing what a blow it was for Gatt.

"All these years, _Hissrad,_ and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them?"_

"His name is Iron Bull," Rosalie said firmly before Bull had a chance to respond.

"I suppose it is," Gatt said bitterly. He gave Bull an expression that was pure ice, then walked away, not looking back over his shoulder even for a second.

Bull fixed his gaze ahead of them to where the dreadnought was being battered with fireballs by the mages that had gathered on the beach. He could feel Rosalie's grey eyes boring into him, he could make out the look of genuine concern on her face in his peripheral vision, but he couldn't think of a damn thing to say in response to it.

"No way they'll get out of range. Won't be long now," he eventually murmured, wishing to make it clear that he was watching out of respect for the fact that the deaths of those on board were _his_ fault, and not because he had any hope for their survival.

"Bull," Rosalie said softly, settling a hand on his forearm and giving it a comforting squeeze. "When the dreadnought sinks…"

"Sinks?" he asked, just in time for the inevitable explosion. The noise made Rosalie jump, and he couldn't help but wonder if being this close to it brought her momentarily back to the explosion at the conclave, the one only she had survived. He shielded his face from the heat with one arm and grunted, "Qunari dreadnoughts don't sink."

They stood in silence and watched the ship burn, Bull pondering all the while what his life might be as _true grey._

Without really thinking about it, he reached out and grasped her hand. Later he would blame it on exhaustion, but in the moment he simply knew that he _needed_ to feel warm skin against his, _needed_ someone to accept him, even if only for a short while. Especially knowing that his own people would never accept him again.

Rosalie didn't comment, just bowed her head, silently acknowledging the need.

* * *

From there it was all rather predictable. Gatt showed up at Skyhold shortly after their return to inform them that there would be no alliance. There was a haunted look in Bull's eyes as she heard Gatt call him Tal-vashoth, but Rosalie doubted he wanted her sympathy. Instead she focused on what they _could_ do, suggesting they reach out to some of Bull's contacts, a thought that left him looking rather impressed with her.

His Chargers were what mattered to him now, and they were what would pull him through it, especially Krem, so she left them to their training and went back to the business of trying to be the most indispensable Inquisitor she could be while also avoiding Leliana's scrutiny.

She didn't see Bull for a few days after that except in passing, though she found that he crossed her mind a great deal. Sometimes life was like that as the Inquisitor, dragging her in every possible direction at once and not giving her a chance to check up on friends - especially ones who were inevitably busy drinking in the tavern. They didn't speak again until he sent her a note, in fact, asking her to meet him on the battlements.

After their late night talk in that very spot and his offer to be the person she could be _not the Inquisitor_ around, she wondered if perhaps he just needed someone to talk to.

It was a shock then, when just as she arrived and began to greet him, two guards approaching from behind drew their weapons and ran in to attack. Rosalie's expression quickly tipped him off, and the first assailant was met with a punch to the face. The second caught him in the shoulder with a thrown knife. Bull responded by throwing an axe, which caught his attacker in the chest.

"Bull!" Rosalie cried, rushing forward.

"I got it," he answered in a disgruntled roar as the first assassin surged.

Something was said in the Qunari language that Rosalie knew had to be an insult, and Bull responded with a shove over the battlements.

Once she knew he was all in one piece and not bleeding too badly, she gave him a little thump on the shoulder - the _uninjured_ shoulder. "You _knew_ they were coming?"

He shrugged. "Little change in the guard rotation tipped me off."

"You could have told me ahead of time."

"You go through years of Ben-Hassrath training to hide facial expressions when I wasn't looking?"

She glared, taking that as an insult to her bardic skills. He was saying he didn't trust her talent enough to work _with_ her when it came to spy business.

"See? Like that," he teased. "If I'd warned you, the assassins would have been tipped off."

Rosalie made a mental note to prove to him just how wrong he was, but that wasn't important for the moment. Bull was. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. Hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed," he grunted. A statement that invited her imagination to go somewhere rather interesting.

With a sigh, she said, "I'd hoped the Ben-Hassrath would let you go."

There was just a note of heartbreak in his voice as he answered, "They did…" Then it became slightly more fierce as he added, "Sending two guys with blades against me? That's not a hit. That's a formality. Just making it clear that I'm Tal-vashoth." He sighed heavily at the notion. "Tal-va- _fucking_ -shoth."

"You acted like a Tal-vashoth for years. That didn't change you. Neither does this," she argued.

"That was just a role. This is my life, as one of those…"

"Look who you're talking to," she demanded. If anyone knew what it was for a role to become their actual life, it was her, after all. As Bull's face softened, she continued, "You're still doing what matters. You're still stopping Corypheus. You're not like those murderers you used to hunt in Seheron. You're a good man."

"Without the Qun to live by…" he began to argue.

"Hey! You're a good man. If the Ben-Hassrath don't see that, it's their loss."

Bull met her gaze for a moment, and in a softer voice said, "Thanks, boss." He sighed. "Anyway, I'll get this cleaned up and let Red know what happened."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "I can get someone to deal with the mess. You get your shoulder looked at."

The order made him chuckle. He seemed like he was turning to leave, but then he looked at her and said, "Boss? Whatever I miss, whatever I regret… _This_ is where I want to be." A little smile came to his lips then. "Whenever you need an ass kicked, The Iron Bull is with you." And then he began to walk away.

"You'd better be going to have that shoulder looked at, or your ass is going to be the one that needs kicking," Rosalie called after him.

He wasn't fine. It would be a while before he would be fine. But she could make him feel like he belonged. She could mother-hen him worse than Vivienne if it meant making sure that Skyhold was truly where he wanted to be. Because if that mission had taught her one thing, it was that she didn't want to imagine Skyhold without him.


	4. Ride

_Thanks to everyone who's read this so far. Just a quick note to point out that this chapter is NSFW._

* * *

Chapter Four: Ride

* * *

The moment the Iron Bull heard footsteps approaching the Inquisitor's bedchamber, he straightened his spine and fixed his gaze on the door. He'd been waiting there for longer than he'd care to admit and didn't want that to seem obvious the moment she saw him.

Thankfully she had her face buried in one of Leliana's reports as she made her way into the room, and didn't spot him at all at first. He couldn't help but grin. He doubted it was easy to catch Rosalie with her guard down. The little gasp she gave as she saw the giant Qunari perched on her bed was delicious.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut in before she had the chance to utter one word. "So, listen. I've caught the hints. I get what you're saying. You want to ride the Bull."

In truth, he wasn't sure if she genuinely wanted that or if she'd just been playing games with him since they'd met. More importantly, he was fairly sure Rosalie wasn't sure either. There had been moments where he'd been convinced her flirting had been a means of deflection, just as there had been other times where she seemed to show him a side few others got to see. He couldn't deny that side fascinated him. Whatever the answer, confronting her seemed a good way to find out. He didn't know all that much about bards, but given those ridiculous masks they wore and the way they danced around a subject, he was pretty sure they didn't usually have to deal with things being put so bluntly.

Rising to his feet, he continued. "Can't say I blame you. But I'm not sure you know what you're asking." He walked towards her as he spoke so that he was towering over her by the time he growled, "Not sure you're ready for it."

If she was surprised, she was good at hiding it. He could tell the sultry gaze she returned as she looked up at him was something she'd been trained to do. Eyes half-lidded, lips slightly pouted and a just-so look that managed to appear demure yet also communicate a desire to tackle him and rip his clothes off. "Oh, I'm ready for it," she assured him.

"See, you say that, but you _really_ don't know what that means." Or more accurately, he worried she was only saying that to tell him what he wanted to hear. He knew it was important to pay close attention and discern the difference.

"So why don't you show me?" she purred seductively.

The words had barely left her mouth before he lifted both of her hands above her head and pressed her into the wall behind her. Her response was to gasp suddenly, but he didn't miss the way the corners of her mouth quirked upwards as she did.

"Last chance," he teased in a low voice, the words rumbling his chest as he spoke them. He felt her arms struggling to free themselves from the Qunari hands pinning her wrists to the wall, but it seemed like it was more to test his strength than out of any true desire to escape, judging by the lack of fear in her expression.

"Won't you please stay?" she asked.

For a moment, he simply regarded her, a soft smile playing on his lips. There was something sincere in her eyes as she looked up at him, something he'd never seen before, something especially intriguing. He'd expected her to back down by this point, to push him away with some phoney excuse and to go back to keeping him at arm's length most of the time. But this… this wasn't an attempt to distract him with feminine wiles. She _wanted_ this. And Fade yeah, he wanted it too.

He answered by snaking one arm around her waist, hefting her up and carrying her over to the bed. It would be interesting to see what she made of what he had in mind.

* * *

There was a slow, thorough kiss as she was carried to the bed. One that stole her breath, the heat of it leaving her robbed of all thought. Her clothes were tugged away layer by layer by questing hands intent on fondling and teasing every inch of her until the world was hazy. Every time she reached out to try to remove something of his in response, she found herself distracted away from the endeavour, and it quickly became clear that he wasn't willing to let her take control.

She soon found herself naked, lying face down on the mattress, her long dark hair loose and one of Iron Bull's hands holding her wrists together behind her back. He leaned in with just enough of his weight to keep her pinned down. It was frightening, but a _good_ kind of frightening, the sort that made her stomach tingle with nerves and made her sensitive to even the slightest touch as she wondered what he'd do next.

Iron Bull took his sweet time. His free hand traced patterns over her inner thighs, drawing tantalizingly close to where she really wanted them, but never seeming to actually get there.

All of this slow fondling had been quite a surprise, especially considering he'd told her to let him know if she wanted him to slow down or to stop. She'd expected something hard and fast. _Barbaric_ even, considering the way she'd seen him act on the battlefield. Something to get her mind off things for a short while and leave her exhausted enough for a good sleep afterwards. She hadn't expected him to tease her, to make the itch worse before he scratched it. Maker, she _hoped_ he was going to scratch it. She wasn't sure she could take him leaving her this way.

As he parted her thighs a little more and his fingers began to tease her lower lips, she affected a loud moan to encourage him.

His response was a sharp slap to her backside that made her gasp. Not painful, but a shock nonetheless.

"You're performing," Iron Bull chided. He shifted on the bed and she felt him lean down and kiss her shoulder before murmuring, "I don't want a performance. Performances are for out there, for when you have to be the one in charge. In here, if you make a noise you don't mean, I won't be able to tell what you need. And what I want…" His hand tangled in her hair, then gave a firm tug that yanked up her head so that his breath fell on her ear as his voice dropped to a whisper, "...Is to give you what you _need."_

She closed her eyes as a shiver travelled the length of her spine.

"Sound good?" he asked, still not letting go of her hair.

Rosalie had just enough leverage to meet his gaze momentarily and nod.

What followed was a torturous little game where Iron Bull stroked and teased, awakening nerves in parts of her body she hadn't even realized were sensitive. He took his time, and though she couldn't see him, she could tell he was enjoying making her wait for it. Every now and again his wandering fingers returned to the junction between her legs to tease at her entrance or to trace lazy circles around her pearl.

Inevitably, Rosalie would make one of the noises she'd been trained to make whenever a man - or woman, not all her marks had been men - touched her intimately. It was a difficult habit to break, and she wasn't sure how he always seemed to know the difference between her unconscious whimpers and the squeals of pleasure she made on purpose, but somehow he always did.

Inevitably when she did _perform,_ as he'd put it, Iron Bull would punish her by starting the painfully slow process over again from the start, his hands returning to somewhere that should have been innocuous like the skin behind her ear or the crook of her elbow, and finding new ways to make her tingle with pleasure. The way she looked over her shoulder at him with wide, pleading eyes, silently begging him to cease the game and simply take her seemed to amuse him, but he didn't give in to it. It was all so very different to anything Rosalie had experienced before, and she found it utterly delicious.

There finally came a point where Rosalie bit down on her bottom lip and held the little moan she felt she should make at bay. That was when Bull chose to reward her with his fingers. One slipped inside her so suddenly it made her gasp. All the same, she was so slick with anticipation by that point, it felt wonderful.

All his teasing had left her so sensitive to his touch that when that finger began to slide in and out, and his thumb began to dance around her nub, she could feel that she was already close to _dying a little death_ , as the Orlesians would say. In fact, barely a minute passed before she felt her face flush and her thighs begin to quiver in that telltale manner.

Hearing Bull urging her on in a gentle voice was what pushed her over the edge. "That's it…" he murmured.

It rolled through the core of her in waves, making her moan breathily as her eyes clamped shut. Bull eased off just slightly, letting her ride the sensation for as long as it lasted.

When she fell limp on the bed, though, he didn't let her rest. She felt the mattress shift as he moved to sit at the edge, and then he urged her to roll onto her back with a tug of her arm.

Rosalie grinned up at him, certain he'd find the rosy hue of her cheeks and the mess he'd made of her hair amusing. It was only then that she realized that he was naked as well, though she wasn't sure when he'd stripped.

"Don't tell me you've had enough already, boss," he teased, a smile playing on his lips. His breath betrayed him though. She could hear that it was faster, heavier than it should have been.

"Maker, I hope not," she answered.

She vaguely recalled feeling nervous about Bull's size before now, but as she let him lift her into his lap so that she straddled him, she was too dizzy feeling the strong aftershocks of her orgasm to fret over that. His hands gripped her hips tightly and lowered her onto him at a torturously slow pace.

Feeling almost overwhelmed by the sensation of him filling her, her head instinctively tilted back and she closed her eyes as she adjusted to the size of him. It wasn't until he cupped her face and urged her to look at him that she felt her breath catch in her throat. His expression was actually _tender_ , the look in his eye speaking of… Well, she wasn't sure yet… but she'd had _just sex_ before, and her partners had never looked at her like _that_.

He pressed a kiss to her lips then murmured, "You can grab the horns if you want. Most humans get a kick out of that."

Rosalie smiled, and couldn't resist saying something she knew would make his chest rumble with one of those excitable growls. "You'd need to give me a reason to grab hold of something first," she teased.

His eyes darkened as he responded exactly as she'd predicted: with a growl of, "Can do."

The hours after that were all a blur of pleasure. She remembered large hands gripping her hips tightly enough to blemish her pale skin as he bounced her up and down. She remembered being taken against the wall and being bent over the desk. She remembered being reminded constantly that it was within her power to stop it with a word if it was more than she could bear, but never feeling that it was.

After they were both sated to exhaustion, Rosalie lay on her side, absently tracing her fingers along the scars over Bull's arms and chest. If the situation were different, she might have asked for the stories behind them, but she found herself unusually silent just then, words not offering themselves up to be spoken.

For a while she felt herself drift into a light doze, waking again every minute or so, blinking slowly and staring up at the lit candles in the sconce above the nightstand. Eventually, she noticed him get up and cross the room. She didn't know if he was finding his clothes so he could get ready to leave or something different, and all she could bring herself to do by that point was stare blankly up at the ceiling.

When he returned shortly after, he was carrying a damp washcloth and a glass of water. In the next moment her back was propped up against his chest as he held a glass of water to her lips and helped her to drink. A good thing too, considering she didn't think she even had the energy to do _that_ for herself just then.

He then used the cloth to wash the sweat from her exhausted body. It trailed all the way up her arm, pausing at her wrist, and she experienced an odd shiver as Iron Bull's thumb traced a slow circle around the glowing green mark on her palm. His gaze met hers and she suddenly found that her heart was racing once more as the mark began to glow.

She swallowed harshly, balling up her fist and abruptly sitting up. "I need to-"

Bull pressed a finger to her lips. "You need to rest," he told her firmly.

There was no denying that. She doubted her legs would have been willing to support her weight even if she had found the strength to rise from the bed. "Why do I get the impression it was your intention all along to leave me so exhausted?" she asked, her voice hoarse from pleasured cries.

He smiled. "Because you're intuitive."

* * *

Bull couldn't help but feel proud as he let himself out of Rosalie's quarters. Last he'd seen, she was sleeping soundly. He had a feeling she hadn't had a full night of sleep in quite a while. When he got downstairs he'd order breakfast for her, something hearty that would give her strength for whatever the following day demanded. Then he'd give her some space in case she needed it; things had gotten a bit intense in there, after all.

As he shut the door behind him, he saw Leliana draw to a halt at the top of the staircase. Like Rosalie, she controlled her expressions better than most humans, but he could tell that she was more surprised to see him than he was to see her. Then again, Bull just had that kind of effect on people.

The spymaster took a moment to size him up. He sensed she was dying to ask him what he'd been up to in there, but they both knew she wouldn't. "Is the Inquisitor inside?" she asked, looking past him to focus on the door behind. "I have some information that may be-"

"No." Bull interrupted, holding a hand up to bar her way. He couldn't entirely keep a straight face as he added, "Let her rest."

At that, he began to make his way down the stairs. It wasn't quite what he'd expected when Leliana followed after him.

"Hmmm, after the juicy details? Maybe a little curious yourself?" he teased.

"The only thing I'm curious about is who Rosalie is working for," Leliana countered. The way she said Rosalie's name made it sound like she wasn't convinced even that was real.

"The Inquisition, of course. You think anyone could get tossed about by that darkspawn god... thing... and not come out of it wanting to take him down a peg or two? She's on the same side you are. Trust me."

"It's a little odd, no? To introduce yourself as a spy, then ask us to trust you," she countered. "I think it would be safer for all of us if I didn't."

Bull doubted there was much point in explaining to her that the Qunari wanted nothing to do with him anymore. His loyalty was to his Chargers and to Rosalie, and to stopping that Corypheus asshole. The less he thought about the Ben-Hassrath the better, not that he could really stop himself. While he doubted they were going to send another hit his way, someone with their guard down was always easier to kill, so he did what he could to stay alert all the same.

"Look... Whatever she was before, she never asked for a big green mark on her hand that can fix holes in the sky. She's done everything that's been asked of her since you guys pulled her from the rubble. Maybe you could cut her a little slack." He shrugged. "Or you could stop barking after the Trevelyans and see if any of your old contacts in Orlais might be able to identify her. That's a thought."

"Then you're saying she _is_ a bard?"

"I'm saying she's the Inquisitor. And she might be better at it if she's not waiting for you to stick a knife in her back. And if you let her rest for now. Thedas will still be there in the morning."

Leliana sighed, but to Bull's credit, she did walk off towards the rookery at a hurried pace, so that was something. _You're welcome, Boss._


	5. Trust

_Ahem, another NSFW chapter…_

* * *

Chapter Five: Trust

* * *

"And you never thought to mention this?" Cullen snapped, temper clearly fraying.

Rosalie had never been a fan of war table meetings, but this was the worst yet. It had been a long time coming, she supposed. The three advisors had called Rosalie in to confront her about a letter Leliana had intercepted. One from someone who expected Rosalie to _'do what is right'_ at the Winter Palace ball. One Leliana hadn't yet managed to trace back to an author.

"When was I supposed to mention it exactly?" she argued. "After the explosion at the conclave, you imprisoned me, pointed a lot of swords at me, and dragged me out in front of the left and right hands of the Divine. After _that,_ in Haven, I had to do whatever I could to convince you that I was too useful to execute. Then an ancient darkspawn magister dropped out of the sky on a dragon and nearly killed us all. By the time all that was over, people were singing at me and kneeling in front of me and acting like the Maker himself sent me, so it seemed impractical to prove them wrong." She held up her hand, which obligingly let out a little burst of green magic as if to help prove her point, the odd not-quite-pain of which made her wince. "I never asked to be Inquisitor. I never asked for any of this."

"Did you ever stop to think not telling us could be worse?" Josephine countered. "The Trevelyans haven't disowned you yet, but the moment you set a foot wrong, they could denounce you publicly. All our support among the nobility would be erased. Every treaty and alliance we have built so far could be threatened by this." Everything _she_ had worked so hard for, in other words.

Rosalie sympathized, but she wasn't sure what she could have done differently. Everything so far had simply been a reaction, an attempt to save her own skin while her life spiralled out of her control. Only since arriving at Skyhold had there been a moment to stop and breathe.

"This could still end with my execution," Rosalie sighed. "I know. I should have found a way to tell you. I should have trusted you to help me handle all of this."

"You still haven't told us who you really are. Your real name," Leliana pointed out. "Or who you work for."

"I'm the Inquisitor," Rosalie sighed heavily. "I work for _you_. Whoever sent me to spy on the Conclave, I've done nothing for them and _everything_ for you since that explosion." If she sounded frustrated it was only because it felt like she'd been saying the same things over and over since the meeting began. "Does it matter who I am? I'm the one whose hand is green. I'm the one who everyone is willing to follow. Why is the rest important?"

"Because Corypheus doesn't need to defeat you if he can destroy all of your support," said Josephine.

From there, a lot more was said. The advisors began to talk over one another, then started bickering amongst themselves, just as they had done when they'd all been lost in the wilderness.

It took a shout from Rosalie to cut across the din of their arguing. "You know what? Why don't the three of you just decide amongst yourselves what to do about me? Why not make Leliana the Inquisitor, instead? Shit, make Sera the damn Inquisitor if you think she'd be a better one. It's not like there's any more pressing issues at the moment."

Perhaps it wasn't the wisest choice, but Rosalie's patience was at an end. She left the war room with an admittedly petty slam of the door and didn't look back.

* * *

Without any real consideration for where she was going, her feet took her down the stairs to Skyhold's basement, and into the hidden study most people didn't even know was there. She let the door slam behind her and moved to the desk, shoving aside a pile of books before slumping forwards to lean her hands against it as she caught her breath and tried to calm herself.

A few moments later she heard the door open behind her, followed by footsteps too heavy to be anyone but Iron Bull. "So how's that whole _waiting until the right time_ plan working out?" he asked softly as she heard the door close behind him.

Rosalie sighed heavily. "I'm not interested in hearing _I told you so_ right now, Bull," she snapped, still not turning to look his way.

He said nothing in response, but she heard his footsteps as he moved towards her. One hand reached around and settled on her stomach, pulling her into him quite roughly so that her back was pressed firmly against his chest. The other hand enveloped her throat and a sizeable forefinger slipped into her mouth, essentially gagging her as he tilted her head back and forced her to meet his gaze.

Instantly her anger slipped away. His dominance made it easy to let it go. She wasn't aware of the way her pupils dilated as she looked up at him, giving her away completely in spite of the half-hearted murmur of protest she gave at such manhandling. All she knew was that he'd taken control, and that meant that nothing outside of that room mattered for now.

Iron Bull smiled, a warm expression at first before it shifted into a smirk. "Feel like playing a game, boss?" he asked. The word _boss_ was spoken almost mockingly now. After all, they both knew who the boss really was in that moment.

The finger in her mouth prevented her from saying more than a muffled _mhmm,_ but he eased his hold on her face enough that she could give a slight nod as well.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, his hands slowly roaming down her arms before he gripped her by the elbows and turned her around quite suddenly. Rosalie didn't have time to think before she was hefted up onto the desk, and she was again reminded of the Qunari's superior strength. She trusted Bull implicitly - at least when it came to the games they played in private - but she was always aware that he could snap her like a twig if he chose to, always aware that it took control on his part to know exactly how much of his strength to use not to hurt her, and that in itself was arousing.

He wedged himself between her knees and one by one, the buttons of her tunic were undone as he asked, "What do you say if you want to stop?"

She tried to wrap her legs around him, but his hands quickly landed on her thighs and pressed them down onto the desk, which made her gasp and look up at him. It was an innocent expression she wore, as if she hadn't been trying to do anything at all. It didn't fool him for a second.

"Well?"

"I say _Katoh_ ," she breathed in response, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

Bull smiled and resumed opening her tunic. "Good," he growled. She still wasn't sure why just a word of praise from him was enough to bring her a small rush of pleasure, but the fact was undeniable.

Once the tunic was fully unbuttoned, he took no steps to remove it. He simply dragged a fingernail slowly up her body, starting at her navel and ending at her throat, where he tipped her chin up to look at him. "The door isn't locked," he pointed out in a low voice. "Think you can stay quiet?"

Rosalie answered with another nod before Bull claimed her mouth without warning, making her whimper softly in surprise against his lips. His hands slid under her tunic and reached around behind her to unclasp her breastband and tug it free. As the kiss continued, he traced his thumbs in slow, teasing circles around both of her nipples. It wasn't until their lips parted that he suddenly pinched them both at once, just firmly enough to illicit an abrupt yelp, and to blur the line between pain and pleasure.

A slow grin spread across his face. "You sure about that? Care to bet on it?"

"You mean if I stay quiet, I win, but if you get me to make a sound, you win?" she asked.

He gave a nod, his gaze by this point fixed on the nipple he was rolling between his thumb and forefinger. "Bard training against Ben-Hassrath training."

Rosalie licked her lips as she considered it. "What's the prize?"

His head dipped down to draw the lobe of her ear into his mouth and suck on it for a moment before he murmured in a low voice, "If you win, I'll take you against the door. Nice and safe. No chance of anyone walking in and seeing us. If _I_ win, I take you right here on this desk..." He paused to brush the tip of his nose against the skin just behind her ear - a place she didn't even know she was sensitive until the movement evoked a shiver. "...And I give you something to make a lot of noise about." He looked to her with a raised eyebrow as if to ask, _Well?_

She grinned, hands gripping the edge of the desk as she leaned forwards so that her lips were tantalizingly close to his. "You don't stand a chance, Ben-Hassrath," she purred.

Rather than say anything in response, the Qunari reached into a pocket to pull out a length of ribbon, which he held up in front of her face. He met her gaze with a smirk and an eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Ah, so you've been waiting for an opportunity to ambush me? Good to know," she said playfully, clasping her hands together and offering him her wrists.

He kissed her softly, then trailed his lips along her cheek until they were at her ear again. "Talking counts as making a sound," he pointed out.

As Rosalie quickly pressed her lips together, Bull began to tie the ribbon around her wrists. He looked into her eyes almost as much as he watched what he was doing, but that didn't stop him from finishing off the knots he'd tied with a pretty little bow. She gave a subtle tug, quickly surmising that she could escape the ribbon if she truly wished to, given sufficient time to loosen it. That wouldn't help her in the heat of the moment though. For now, she was at his mercy.

From there things continued at a torturously slow pace. His hands went everywhere but where she expected them too, caressing her arms, her fingers, her neck and throat. The longer he kept her guessing, the more every nerve in her body became sensitive to his touch. At one point he paused to look her in the eyes and smirk as he saw her impatient expression.

Then he straightened up and walked several slow steps around the desk, before she felt his hands land on her waist from behind to suddenly tug her backwards until her back thudded against the warmth of his bare chest. She did well not to gasp. "You never specified any kind of time limit," he breathed into her ear.

His fingers splayed across her stomach before stroking up to caress her breasts, rolling each nipple between thumb and forefinger as Rosalie bit down on her lower lip and tilted her head back to rest against his chest. His head dipped down a moment later so that he could tease at her neck with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

When his right hand began to wander south, dipping past the waistband of her pants and into her smalls to find her already slick with desire, she turned her head to meet his gaze, to _show_ him that she could win his game, even as his finger dancing around her pearl made the muscles of her stomach clench. Bull just gave her a knowing smile, like he was certain he'd already won.

Soon he had turned her around and was pushing her flat on the desk, tugging her pants loose and kissing his way along her hips and thighs with every inch of flesh he revealed. When finally she lay before him, dressed in nothing but her opened shirt and the ribbon binding her wrists, he stepped back and took a moment to look her up and down, admiring the sight of her bound and exposed before him. Rosalie wasn't usually one to blush, but she felt the approving rumble that sounded in his chest bring a touch of heat to her cheeks.

Their eyes locked in a heated gaze as he leaned over her to plant a trail of kisses down her stomach. His lips paused as she felt the stubble on his chin brush her mound, and Bull gently lifted her leg to rest on his shoulder.

Rosalie pressed her lips together firmly and swallowed, knowing this would be the truly challenging part. She was determined to win their little game, not matter how skillfully his tongue danced below, no matter how he made her want to cry out. She was prepared to resist that clever mouth.

She had not, however, prepared herself to resist his treacherous fingers as they suddenly tickled the arch of her foot, making her yelp with surprised laughter.

"You arse!" she chuckled, snatching her foot away. _That_ wasn't tied down, after all. "That's got to be cheating." Admittedly, neither of them had specified _how_ Bull had to get her to make a sound, but it certainly _felt_ against the spirit of their game.

"Is it?" Bull laughed, then kissed a path from her ankle up all the way the inside of her leg. "How about a compromise then? I take you on the desk, _then_ up against the door. Sound good?"

"That… _ahh_ …" Suddenly his tongue made it nearly impossible to give him a proper answer. "Sounds... good," she gasped, unable to do anything in response other than hook her legs over his shoulders.

"Let me know when you can't hold any longer," he murmured, just as he slowly pushed a finger inside her. She gave an obedient nod, though she wondered why he was asking it of her. He would know when she was about to fall over the edge. Somehow he always seemed to know.

"Bull," she gasped breathlessly once she felt herself reach that point of no return.

He rumbled out a groan at the sound of his name, the vibrations of which she felt intimately. The next thing she knew, he was flipping her over. Her feet landed on the floor and his hands landed on her hips. She cried out as he pushed into her, the sudden force of it making her come in an instant.

A hand fisted in her hair, tugging strongly enough that she was forced to arch her spine and tilt her head back to look at him, her breasts bouncing in time with every powerful thrust. He rode her until her legs went weak beneath her and she had to rely on the desk to support her. He rode her until sweat dripped from her brow and trickled down her back. He rode her until she wasn't sure how much more she could take but found herself begging him not to stop all the same.

When he did stop, it wasn't a sudden thing but a gradual slowing before he pulled out, leaving an aching emptiness. He stopped to comb his fingers through her hair, leaving her to wonder what was about to happen, since she was certain he hadn't yet finished.

His other hand cupped her backside, then smacked it lightly as she heard him growl, "Ready for the door?" When she didn't answer right away, he gave her another playful smack. "Rosalie?"

"Y...Yes," she said through heavy breaths.

Another smack, more forceful this time, right on that delicious line between pleasure and pain. "Yes, what?"

She turned her head to look at him, a naughty smile on her lips as she answered, "Yes please, boss."

With a chuckle, he turned her over and shifted her back until she was once again lying flat on her back on the desk, then brushed aside the hair that clung to the sweat on her face. "Now _that's_ a sight I won't forget in a hurry," he murmured appreciatively, taking a moment to look down at her.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting up on the desk, and he untied the ribbon binding her wrists. He wrapped her arms around his neck, then reached behind his head to re-tie the knots. "Not too tight?" he checked.

She shook her head, realizing that this new arrangement left her tied to him and forced to stare up at him.

He nudged her legs apart, then wrapped them around his waist, his hands gripping her ass and hefting her up off the desk even as he pushed inside her once more. Rosalie's eyes rolled back in her head momentarily as he bounced her a bit until his grip on her was more comfortable for both of them, and then he walked her over to the door as he'd promised. It was a rather clumsy journey across the room, knocking several dusty tomes from the shelves along the way until finally he pressed her against the door and claimed her lips for a passionate kiss as he pressed her against it.

With each slow thrust of his hips she was slammed against that door, but she barely noticed it. Her awareness dimmed down just to how very deeply he could penetrate her in this position. Where he'd been rough and fast before, now he was achingly slow, making her feel every inch of him. After a while, he adjusted them so that her legs were tucked over his forearms, allowing him to bounce her up and down his length.

She didn't notice her fingernails digging in at the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. She didn't even notice that her head was resting against the door or that she'd closed her eyes tightly. At least, not until he heard Iron Bull urge her to look at him.

The look in his eye was all heat and desperation, and it was all she needed to send her into blissful shudders once more, though "I'm… I'm… _nhhh… Bull!_ " was about as close as she could get to telling him so.

She heard the violent rattling of the door hinges as he pulled his arms away to press his palms flat against the door either side of her. Then it was just the pressing of his hips holding her up as he groaned loudly, chasing her orgasm with one of his own.

When all fell still, he cupped her face with both hands and kissed the crown of her head, then gently lowered her. As her feet found the floor, her legs initially refused to support her weight, but she was saved from a fall by the fact that her wrists were still bound together behind his neck.

Reaching back to untie the ribbon, Bull looked down at her with an admiring expression, then chuckled. "We're _really_ going to have to do something about your hair." He said the words almost proudly, and it was only then that Rosalie realized it had come loose from its bun. "Come on." At that, he picked her up and carried her to the desk.

"Upsy daisy?" she suggested. Her voice was slightly hoarse from the noises she'd been making, but she still managed to sound teasing.

He laughed. "Yeah. Upsy daisy."

Setting her down on the desk, he began to comb the tangles from her hair with his fingers. Then he massaged her scalp, which felt wonderful mixed together with the pleasurable little shudders that were still rolling through her body. She couldn't help but close her eyes and smile, feeling utterly relaxed in spite of the fact that she was only in this dusty old study because she'd stormed out of a meeting. The meeting couldn't have been further from her mind in that moment, in fact, which was no doubt Bull's entire reason for following her. He had that knack for knowing exactly what people needed, after all.

"You know, if I hadn't seen for myself what happened on that dreadnought run, I'd swear this was all some genius scheme to win my trust so you could influence me," she murmured idly.

"Not a bad plan," he admitted. "Given that you saw my own people trying to kill me, what's your new theory?"

She opened one eye to look at him. "I haven't _entirely_ dismissed the idea that the assassins were just an elaborate ruse to fool me. I've seen bards go to greater lengths to fool a mark into misplacing their trust," she admitted.

His fingers began to separate her hair into strands and weave them together. "In Seheron, the moment you let your guard down, fool yourself into thinking you're safe or that the people you actually give a shit about won't stick a knife in your back, you usually wound up dead or not far off it. From what I've seen of the circles bards move in, it's kind of like that only everyone's smiling and wearing dumb masks. Not an easy way to grow up."

Rosalie raised an eyebrow. "You think I grew up there, do you?"

"The years that mattered? Yeah."

She never bothered telling him he was right. "You'll see for yourself what it's like before long. I'm guessing you won't be a fan."

"I might be if the food's good enough," he murmured. "There." He lowered the now completed braid down over one shoulder so that she could appreciate the red ribbon he'd woven through it and used to tie the end - the same one that had bound her wrists moments ago.

The sight brought a smile to her lips. "Thank you."

"As for Halamshiral… That's coming whether you want it to or not. Orlais needs a butt on the throne or there'll be chaos. That means Corypheus wins. None of us wants that."

She sighed, feeling the tension return to her shoulders just at the mention of it. "I know."

"You want my advice?" he asked gently.

Rosalie let out a longing groan. "What I _want_ is to spend all day locked away someplace with you." She paused to glance at the tip of her braid. "And perhaps a length of rope." That made _him_ groan. "But for now I'll settle for your advice."

"Make nice with Red," he said plainly. "Whatever's coming at the Winter Palace is going to be a mess for you if you don't."

With another sigh she hopped down from the desk and began to dress herself, making sure everything was buttoned up correctly and nothing looked too skewiff. Thankfully Bull had managed not to rip anything this time.

"I'm not going to make the mistake of assuming I'm indispensible. Leliana might still decide I'm more trouble than I'm worth." _Especially when she figures out who my bard master is,_ though Rosalie left _that_ part unspoken. "But I will try."

"As for the length of rope you mentioned…" He stepped forward and drew her into a slow kiss, ending with a squeeze and smack of her backside. "Looking forward to it."

"See you later, Bull," she breathed, then moved past him towards the door.

Bull, as she'd expected, noted a slip of fabric still lying on the floor as she walked away, and bent down to pick it up. "Hey, you forgot these," he called after her, waving the lacy black pair of smalls in the air.

She glanced back at him and blinked innocently as she asked, "Did I?"

Hearing his chest rumble with an approving groan, she slipped from the room before he could say anything in response, a self-satisfied little grin on her face that he couldn't see.

* * *

When she arrived back at her room, Leliana was waiting beside the door, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her hood down so low that most of her face was hidden in shadow. Given that they were standing at the top of a staircase at the top of the tallest tower in Skyhold, Rosalie couldn't help but feel nervous.

"Mathis Travére," the Spymaster said. "I'm ashamed it took me this long to figure it out."

Rosalie swore internally at the mention of her bard master, but didn't dignify the comment with a response. _Yet._

"If it were someone more acceptable; someone working with the Templars or the Chantry, you would have come to me. You're no fool, Rosalie. Once you were made the Inquisitor, you knew you had become indispensable. You would have come to me and admitted who you really are. There's only one reason you wouldn't."

Desperately wishing this conversation could happen elsewhere, Rosalie replied, "What reason would that be?"

Leliana changed her stance, clasping her hands together behind her back. Rosalie didn't doubt the woman was gripping a pair of hidden knives just in case she needed to strike. Rosalie herself had a concealed blade up one sleeve, just in case she needed to defend herself.

"Empress Celene," said the Spymaster. "Before the attack on Haven, you learned that Corypheus wants her dead. Your bard master is in the Grand Duke's pocket, is he not? He wants to see Gaspard become Emperor. Your loyalties are divided in this, so you chose to bear your secret alone a while longer." She gave Rosalie an appraising look from head to toe. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Rosalie wasn't sure whether to bow her head and admit it was true, run in the other direction, or attack her spymaster and try to throw her over the staircase railing before she could cause any serious problems. Panicked, her grip on the hidden blade tightened, which called Leliana's attention to it. A mistake her bard master, Mathis, would have chided her for quite harshly.

Leliana surged forwards to pin Rosalie to the wall, her blade at the Inquisitor's throat in the blink of an eye.

Thinking quickly, Rosalie let the anchor on her left hand surge with magic, causing a burst of green that broke Leliana's focus. She then took advantage of the split-second distraction to bear the spymaster to the floor, straddling the woman and pinning her arms to keep her down. It was, admittedly, a sight that Iron Bull probably wouldn't have minded arriving to.

"We _need_ to find a way to work together," Rosalie insisted fiercely. "You can't trust me? Fine. At least trust that I want to stop Corypheus. I don't want to run anymore and hiding isn't an option. The only way this ends well for either of us is if we work together in Halamshiral."

"You're right," Leliana agreed, then took advantage of Rosalie letting go of her hands and flipped their position so that the Inquisitor was pinned beneath her. The movement made her hood fall back, giving Rosalie her first full view of the woman's red hair and pretty face. Up close, she smelled like those little white bell-shaped flowers that grew in the forests of Ferelden. "Then let's talk."

She jumped up and offered a hand to Rosalie, who accepted the help up. Rosalie opened the door to her quarters and stepped back to gesture Leliana inside.

"I heard that these days, Travére is bard master to a pair of twin sisters," the woman remarked as she followed Rosalie inside.

Rosalie held up her left hand, palm open to show the still-glowing mark. "I don't think you need to worry about someone else taking my place."

Leliana moved to the desk where a bottle of Antivan brandy sat beside two glasses. She filled them both, then offered one to Rosalie, who paused to consider whether she should accept. It was never safe to assume that an opponent was above using poison to achieve their goal, after all. In the end, she took the glass and sipped from it, deciding that Leliana was simply offering a chance to prove that they could trust one another. They _needed_ to trust one another. Halamshiral would be dangerous enough.

"Marjolaine was your bard master," Rosalie noted. Mathis hadn't sent her to the conclave unprepared, after all. "Have you seen her since you parted ways?"

The woman took a long sip of brandy before answering. "Once. In Denerim, during the blight. I made it clear she should keep her distance. A warning she took seriously, evidently."

"Do you miss her?" Rosalie asked, expecting Leliana to simply brush away the question.

"Once I did," she answered softly. "Time made it easier to see the reasons I did not belong at her side." She took another sip, then raised an eyebrow and looked to Rosalie. "I imagine this is the longest you have gone without seeing Mathis since he found you. Were you a refugee from the blight? You sound more Fereldan than Orlesian."

Rosalie nodded, supposing she shouldn't be surprised how much her own spymaster had managed to figure out. "My sister and I were fourteen. He found us in Jader, singing in the street to beg for scraps."

"His hold on you will be difficult to break, especially considering he still controls your sister. But you are our Inquisitor, and you must do first what is best for the Inquisition. I need to know that you will, or everything Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, and myself have worked so hard to accomplish will have been for nothing. All of those deaths in Haven will have been for nothing."

"He'll be waiting to corner me at the Winter Palace," Rosalie sighed, still feeling a bit hopeless about the whole mission. Leliana adding to the pressure she already felt didn't help much.

"And _I_ will be ready for him. You worry about Celene. I will worry about Mathis Travére," Leliana insisted. "You said we need to work together, this is how we'll do it. If it helps, consider _me_ your bard master from now on."

Rosalie blinked. "I could do that. When it comes to matters of the Game, of course. Here in Skyhold, _I'm_ still the one who sits on the throne."

"Of course," Leliana replied. "We're in agreement, then?"

The Inquisitor took a moment to consider that, then nodded and clinked her glass against Leliana's. "We are." Indeed, for the first time, she felt like perhaps a future in her role as Inquisitor was not an impossibility. Perhaps this could work.


	6. En Route

_Aaaaand a bit more NSFW stuff in this chapter too…_

* * *

Chapter Six: En Route

* * *

The Iron Bull examined Rosalie with care as he walked around her in a slow circle, looking for any sign of discomfort or unhappiness. A little apprehension was normal. Breathing a little faster was to be expected, as was the quickened pulse he'd felt when he'd briefly pressed his fingers to her neck when he'd finished tying the ropes. But given that she was a Bard - someone trained to make people believe what they wanted to believe - he had to be sure. Especially now that they were getting into kinkier territory.

She was quite the sight, he had to admit as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Down on her knees like that, blindfolded with a silk sash, the ropes he'd tied forming a harness around her breasts and binding her arms together behind her back.

She was, he was certain, not entirely comfortable - nor was comfort the intent. But as long as she was focused on keeping her spine straight and her chin up - on presenting him with the best view possible, in other words - her mind would be on him, and not on the fact that they were staying at some country inn in a village he didn't even know the name of on their way to the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. _That_ was what she needed, at least for a while. If he could exhaust her enough that she got some decent sleep afterwards too, even better.

They were lucky to have a room to themselves. Given how the Inquisition had descended on the little country inn with almost no notice, she was one of only a very few to be granted her own room. Rosalie's companions were three to a room, while the soldiers that were accompanying them from Skyhold were camping in the surrounding fields.

They were lucky to have the room, and Bull intended to put it to good use.

Once he was standing behind her, he leaned down enough that his breath fell on her ear as he asked in an especially low rumble, "Wondering what's in store?"

She nodded, and he watched the goosebumps slowly spread over her shoulders and arms.

His lips caressed the lobe of her ear as he asked, "Scared?"

"I trust you," she breathed.

That was true, he realized for the first time. On multiple occasions now she'd let him take her. For the second time, she was letting him bind her. This time, she couldn't even _see_ him.

 _That_ held immense meaning for someone who feared that he would surrender to chaos and madness, who without the order of the Qun might become like the Tal-vashoth he had seen in Seheron. Here, a woman who was trained to read people, trained not to trust anyone, was placing her safety, her _life,_ in his hands. It meant a great deal. What was more, he knew he could never succumb to that darkness inside him if it meant endangering her.

Dipping his head down, he lavished her neck with kisses and teasing bites. He wrapped his arms around her and settled his hands on her thighs, smoothing slowly over petal-soft skin, down towards her knees. There, he parted her legs, and his hands began to work their way back up to the place where he knew his touch would make her shudder in his grip.

As her head tilted back and she began to whimper, the hand that wasn't toying with her below snapped up to envelope her throat, forcing her head back further. His thumb and forefinger gripped the sides of her neck and gave a gentle squeeze and release, only for as long as the space of one breath. She gasped in shock as Bull let go of her throat, but didn't stop dancing his fingers around her pearl.

With a grin, he pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured, "One word and all of this stops any time you need it to."

Rosalie grinned. "You are going to have to try a lot harder than _that_ if you- _nhh!"_ Her sentence was interrupted as Bull slipped a finger inside her, finding her slick with desire already.

"If I what?" he asked in a growl, his hand settling at her throat ready to squeeze once more.

"If you want me to say our watchword," she told him.

Bull chuckled. The trust she'd placed in him went both ways. He knew she felt safe with him, knew she'd tell him if that changed. With her back pressed against his chest he could feel her breathing, feel that she wasn't panicked. She wasn't lying or trying to impress him when she spoke like that. She was inviting him to explore her limits.

He crooked his finger inside her, easily finding that slightly rough spot within that seemed to make her melt in his arms when he stroked it. Rosalie whimpered and sagged into him.

She was inviting him to explore her limits, and Bull had a _lot_ of ideas. "Want to play a game, boss?"

* * *

Later, probably hours later if Bull was any judge, Rosalie reached that point where enough was enough. She never _told_ him she'd reached that point, their watchword had still gone unspoken, but he could tell that it was time to stop.

He massaged some lotion into her skin as he peeled away the ropes. They'd inevitably left their marks, but nothing that had bruised or broken the skin. He adored the way she smelled after sex. He adored the limp heaviness of her limbs as he tended to them, the way they flopped against the mattress as he released them. She was completely relaxed, and he was proud to know that it was _his_ doing.

Once she was fully untied, he lay down beside her on the bed, unable to resist hugging her close before scooping her up off the mattress to lie on top of him instead. She wasn't quite asleep yet, but she was too out of it to really notice.

It was only then that Bull realized how tired _he_ was. His eyes drifted shut and he let himself doze for a while. He hadn't intended to sleep through until morning. That part had just sort of _happened_.

When he opened his eyes again, Rosalie was already awake, a smile on her face as she idly traced her fingers over the scars on his body. "Morning," he murmured fondly.

"How have you not told me the stories behind any of these yet?" she asked, tracing a finger along the long scar that ran horizontally beneath his left nipple.

"You weren't ever trained to recognize wounds by what caused them?" he asked, figuring it was obvious that an enemy blade had sliced him open years ago back in Seheron.

She shook her head, then dipped her head to kiss the scar. "I could guess? Let's see… You… tried to butt horns with a druffalo? It was a baking incident that the Chargers aren't allowed to talk about? No, no, I have it. A sex injury from fooling around in bed with other Qunari. I'm right, yes?"

A fond smile came to his lips. He'd never seen her being playful…. _silly_ even, before now. He doubted this was a side of Rosalie many got to see. "Actually, it was-"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door that made Rosalie's eyes widen in panic. "Rosalie, darling," Vivienne's voice called from the other side. "We've brought you some dresses to try."

"Just a minute!" the Inquisitor called, then hopped up and frantically searched for where her nightdress had landed after Bull had tugged it off and tossed it aside. "Hide!" she hissed at Bull.

Bull just looked confused. "How?" He wasn't exactly someone who could fit under a bed or be easily concealed by a curtain, after all. And it wasn't like her suite at Skyhold where he could hide in the cupboard or out on the balcony if need be. Her room at the inn was pretty small, in fact.

She tugged the nightdress on over her head, then tossed his pants at him - inevitably aiming too high and getting them caught on his horns - before moving to the door and opening it just enough to peek out.

"Still in bed at this hour?" Bull heard Vivienne say as he worked to free his pants from his horn. He was able to get them down, hop to his feet, and tug them up to his waist just in time that the woman wasn't given an eyeful as she pushed her way into the room.

Vivienne paused as she saw Bull standing there, her eyebrows rising. "I see," she said in that tone that managed to sound amused and disapproving at the same time.

Bull straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back, automatically standing to attention at her arrival. "Ma'am," he greeted her.

Before Rosalie could ask where the dresses were, Vivienne turned to the door and clapped her hands. Instantly a seamstress and several assistants rolled a rack of dresses into the room and popped up a changing screen on one side of the room. Then Vivienne considered Rosalie for a moment, then nodded. "As promised, I'm introducing you to my seamstress, my dear. Madame Sophistiqué, the Inquisitor. Inquisitor Rosalie, Madame Sophistiqué."

The two women shook hands as Vivienne continued to speak. "She's going to ensure that all of Thedas is speaking of your flawless fashion sense." She snapped her fingers and gestured at the rack, then told the seamstress, "The midnight blue, I think. The backless one."

At the word _backless,_ a little grunt of approval escaped Bull before he could stop it. Vivienne briefly glared in his direction, then shuffled Rosalie behind the screen. Bull twiddled his fingers and shared a friendly nod with the assistants Vivienne had summoned into the room as he waited patiently for Rosalie to emerge.

"Ah… Oh my!" he heard the seamstress say.

"Darling, what are those marks all down your back?" he then heard Vivienne chide. The light would be dimmer behind the screen, so he doubted the enchanter could make out the patterns the ropes had left in Rosalie's skin. "Goodness, they're all down your arms as well. We can't have the entire court staring and whispering to each other about your love life."

Ah, so she _could_ make them out, he thought with an internal chuckle. He had to smirk, feeling a bit proud of himself, even if he was sure this was all quite inconvenient for Vivienne.

"The emerald green, I think, next, darling," Vivienne continued. "Clearly jewel tones are the best choice for her colouring, and the capelet should cover up all of _that."_ There was a murmur of approval from Madame Sophistiqué, who appeared from behind the screen and hurried to the dress rack.

That was when Leliana appeared in the doorway. "A gown is the wrong choice," she announced.

Vivienne's head poked out from behind the screen. "My dear, are you quite serious? This is the Inquisitor's chance to show the world the flawless, beautiful, strong leader that she is. Surely you wouldn't have her march out before Empress Celene herself in the same tired armour she wears to trek across the Hinterlands?" She seemed quite aghast at the thought.

"It isn't about how the Inquisitor looks, but the Inquisition as a whole. We will go in matching dress uniforms. A show of strength and unity to make any would-be assassin think twice."

That was when Bull saw Rosalie step out from behind the changing screen and his jaw dropped open. Sure, he liked her in the armour she wore, and out of it, and wrapped up in ropes or ribbons, and especially with her legs wrapped around _him_ … but _this_ was a side of her he hadn't seen before. This was how Rosalie looked in the bard world; a raven-haired beauty who wore a ballgown like a second skin, perfectly at ease drawing the stares of those around her. One he couldn't take his eyes off, ropeburns or no.

Vivienne turned to face her and said, "Inquisitor, I hope you're not truly considering-"

"Leliana's right," Rosalie said firmly, and Bull caught the spymaster and Inquisitor exchange an oddly conspiratorial glance with one another. "Uniforms would send a stronger message about the might of the Inquisition. Our primary mission isn't to present me in front of the Empress and her court, but to save Orlais from being plunged into chaos. Anyone up to no good will think twice before attempting anything in front of one of our uniforms."

There was another reason, Bull's spy-senses informed him, something Rosalie and Leliana both knew, but which neither wanted to bring up in front of everyone else.

Vivienne soon conceded, much to her chagrin, and Leliana offered to show Madame Sophistiqué some designs Josephine had apparently sketched. The racks of dresses were removed, and Bull soon found himself alone in the room with Rosalie once again.

"There was something you didn't say just then," he noted, stepping forward to touch a hand to her cheek. "That whole _show of strength and unity_ stuff… I mean, yeah, makes sense. But it's not just for whoever's working for Corypheus."

"It's for the man who sent me to the conclave. And for me," she murmured. He appreciated that she hadn't just brushed the query aside. "To remind me that I'm not alone. To make sure he knows that I'm part of something bigger now, that I don't have to jump every time he snaps his fingers."

"Or when anyone does," he murmured, glad that she and Leliana were finally working together on this. That seemed better for everyone.

Rosalie looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Except for when I'm alone with you."

Bull matched her expression, then walked in a slow circle until he was behind her, his fingers idly tracing along the the ropeburns marking her exposed back. "This dress, boss, this works for me." Not least because he could practically _see_ the shiver travel down her spine as he said it. His hands landed on her hips and tugged her against him so that her bare skin was pressed against the heat of his bare chest. "They left it. You think it's yours to keep now?"

She leaned into him. "A perk of being the Inquisitor, perhaps?"

His hands bunched in the skirts and began to tug them upwards.

"Bull…" she laughed. "It's morning. We'll have to be on the road again soon!"

"Don't worry. What I have in mind won't even involve getting you out of this dress." Abruptly he spun her around, picked her up and tossed her onto the bed, where she landed with a bounce. He answered her yelp at being manhandled with a deep, rumbly growl. Then his hands slid up beneath her skirts, stroking their way up her legs. "Scream into the pillow if you need to, boss. I think the walls here are pretty thin." He parted her legs and ripped those pesky smalls of hers away. "Or don't. Up to you."

At that, he put his tongue to use for something other than talking.

* * *

The rest of Rosalie's day was taken up by travelling and answering people's questions. She found herself glad that she'd taken the time to tumble with Bull while they'd had the chance. Even with all the Inquisition's leadership on the road, there were messengers arriving for them with urgent matters that needed their attention. There was plenty that couldn't wait for them to arrive back at Skyhold's war table.

By day's end, they were much closer to Halamshiral, but not near enough to any inn or tavern that could accommodate them, which meant that everyone had to camp.

There were several campfires around the place, but Rosalie found herself drawn to the one where someone was playing a lute. Well... perhaps _playing_ was a strong word. There were strings and someone was plucking them, but it didn't take a musician to tell that that person had never been given a lute lesson in their life. Nor did they seem to care, judging by the fact their enthusiasm for playing so terribly hadn't yet dwindled.

Perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise when she drew close and found Sera, blonde locks glowing in the dim light of the fire, a lute in her lap - though she was holding it backwards. Rosalie approached on soft feet to sit down beside the archer, who looked up with a silly grin on her face.

"There's you, yeah," she said by way of greeting.

"Where did you get the lute?" Rosalie asked curiously.

Sera let out a wicked giggle that Rosalie found oddly endearing. "Let's just say someone needed a manners lesson and now I have a new toy. Only I'm rubbish." Suddenly she pushed the instrument into Rosalie's hands and sang, "Your turn."

Rosalie chuckled. Her sister, Lila, was the far more accomplished musician, but she could also play a little. She settled the lute in her lap and her fingers on the strings, then plucked each one in turn to find that they were, remarkably, still in tune. "Let's see..."

She began with a finger exercise, one of those silly little ditties one was taught to help their fingers become accustomed to switching between the notes. Repetitive and not all that impressive, but at least not offensive to the ears.

"Hey, that's all right, that," Sera noted, sounding reluctantly impressed. "Noble types get lessons, yeah? Must do."

"Something like that," she replied. It was easier to let her think that, at least. The truth was that it had been something she and her sister had learned as children, before they'd ever come to Orlais or been dragged into high society and the Game surrounding it.

From there, she began to pluck out a pretty melody in a three-four rhythm; just the sort of thing a couple could waltz to. One of the very tunes the couples on the dancefloor _would_ be dancing to the following night at the ball, she expected. Here, under the stars and surrounded by campfires, the smell of cooking stew, and dozens of sweaty soldiers peeling themselves out of their mail, it seemed ridiculously far removed from such glamour.

Though perhaps less so once Vivienne arrived with Iron Bull in tow.

"Are you sure about this, ma'am?" he asked as she placed one of his hands on her tiny waist and linked the other with hers. "If _I_ step on your toes, I might actually break them."

"Then you'll just have to be careful, darling, won't you?" she countered, then reminded him, "Step, step, turn…"

He gave a serious nod, then replied, "Step, shuffle, spin, ma'am."

At that, they began to dance, which prompted Sera to stick out her tongue, blow a raspberry, then announce that she was hungry and hop to her feet to run off in search of food.

Rosalie just smiled and kept playing the melody in a loop, content to watch Bull and Vivienne. The look of serious concentration on his face was really very sweet, with just a hint of worry like he was genuinely frightened of hurting his partner. He needn't have worried; from the looks of things his feet already knew what they were doing without him needing to stare down at them, which was always the hard part.

After a while, she felt someone sit down beside her. They'd approached on such soft feet, she hadn't heard them coming, which surprised her enough to miss a note or two. Not a mistake her sister would have made.

"He is more than meets the eye, your Iron Bull, no?" Leliana asked once Rosalie's playing had recovered.

"Aren't we all?" the Inquisitor murmured in response.

"Truer words were never spoken." The spymaster scrutinized Rosalie for a moment, then nodded. "You seem relaxed considering what tomorrow will bring."

"As relaxed as I can be," she agreed. Bull's recent efforts to leave her passed out from exhaustion were helping a great deal, but she wasn't about to tell Leliana that. "Knowing I have the Inquisition at my back is a great help. That was a good decision about the uniforms, by the way."

The other woman nodded. "It will send a strong message about your loyalties."

"With any luck, he won't interfere." Rosalie didn't sound hopeful, because she wasn't. Mathis was too ambitious not to at least make an attempt to use her newfound power and influence to his own advantage, and too clever not to use her sister against her to do it.

"You have me," Leliana reminded her, giving her a pat on the forearm, one gentle enough to not interfere with her playing. "I could not face my bard master without a friend's support either."

"The Hero of Ferelden?" Rosalie guessed.

That brought a fond smile to Leliana's lips - not an expression Rosalie was used to seeing on her. Things had been dire and the Divine's death had hit her hard, after all. "There is no one in the world I trust more," said the spymaster.

"You know, a lot of people in Val Royeaux don't realize that Sister Nightingale and the Leliana who helped the Hero defeat the archdemon are the same person. I imagine that's partly your doing," Rosalie mused.

"Perhaps," was all Leliana said in response to that, though the way the corner of her mouth lifted in amusement told Rosalie she was right.

"The Leliana who helped defeat the archdemon was said to be a bard and an accomplished musician," Rosalie added.

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to sing for you?"

"Well… put it this way… These two don't look like they've finished practicing and this is the only ballroom friendly song I know how to play," Rosalie answered with a grin. "Up to you if you'd like to hear me play it another seven times in a row or not."

"Blackmail!" Leliana gasped mockingly. "And just as we were starting to trust one another."

The words were spoken in jest, but Rosalie was still touched by them. "More just honesty about my skill level. You _did_ ask me to be honest with you, yes?" she countered as she brought the melody she was playing to its natural conclusion.

On the other side of the campfire, Vivienne and Iron Bull parted from their hold, and Bull bowed to his dance partner. Rosalie gave Leliana a pleading look, and Leliana simply sighed and rolled her eyes in a good-humoured sort of way. "You know Josephine is going to bother me to play at Skyhold now," she complained as she accepted the lute and settled it in her lap.

"I fail to see how that could be a bad thing. It would liven things up when I need to make judgements from that throne."

Leliana tested the strings one by one, then began to play with a flourish of fast picking before she settled into a new melody. "You are saying then that Avaar men throwing goats at the castle is not interesting enough for you?" she teased.

"It was only _one_ goat," Rosalie was quick to point out.

"It seems your Iron Bull has taken quite well to the dancing," Leliana noted, nodding ahead to where Bull was twirling Vivienne around. "Now we only need to find you someone to practice with, yes? A good bard master would tell you it's important not to let your skills become rusty."

"That's fine. I'd really rather just-"

"Oh, Josephine!" Leliana called before Rosalie could finish her sentence.

Rosalie sighed, rose to her feet and bowed to Leliana. "As you command, my lady."

At that, she crossed to where Josephine was speaking with Cullen and Cassandra. "My lady, if I may have this dance?" Rosalie asked, bowing deeply before offering out her hand.

A bright smile came to Josephine's face. "It would be my pleasure, Inquisitor." At that she let Rosalie pull her up and into a hold, and the two began to dance to the music. "You and Leliana have been getting along much better the last few days, I've noticed," the ambassador said once the two of them seemed to have settled into their steps.

Rosalie glanced over her shoulder to where Leliana sat, noting the woman looked rather lonely now, all alone with her lute. "We have," she admitted, smiling faintly. _I hope we can still say that by the time this mission is over._


	7. Wicked Eyes

Chapter Seven: Wicked Eyes

* * *

A lowly inn on the outskirts of the city of Halamshiral suddenly found itself putting up its _No Vacancy_ sign in the window as the Inquisition descended upon it. This wouldn't be where they spent the night following Empress Celene's grand ball, but it was the best place for the Inquisitor and her advisors and companions to change into the dress uniforms they would wear to the event. Arriving in style, as those already familiar with Orlesian high society knew, was everything, and the Inquisition needed everyone in attendance to stand up and take notice of them.

Already dressed in her red and gold frock coat with the blue sash tied in place, Rosalie made her way to the room where Varric had told her Bull was changing, figuring she'd better check on him in case he was struggling with the whole having to wear a shirt thing.

That, as it turned out, was hardly necessary. She found him already dressed and admiring himself in the mirror. "I feel like the moment I flex, I'll bust every seam and button on this thing," he muttered as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Best not to flex then," she replied, tilting her head slightly at the sight of him. He was certainly handsome in red, as strange as it was seeing him all covered up like that. "At least not until later. I know the wait will be hard on both of us," she added with a wistful sigh as she stepped closer.

Bull turned to grin at her. "Sounds like one of our little games, right?" he chuckled. "I think I can handle it." He sank into a courtly bow - one she was certain he'd learned from Vivienne - then straightened. "You look good, boss. Even if I did like that backless gown better."

"That makes two of us," she agreed. "I admit, I was half expecting you to end up with the sash tangled around your horns."

That made him laugh. "Came in here to rescue me, huh, boss? Nice to know you've got my back."

"Always," she answered, looking up at him with a bright smile. And she knew without him even needing to say it that he had hers.

His face softened as he asked, "How're you holding up?"

She couldn't help but sigh. "There's a lot riding on tonight. For me personally, but for Orlais and potentially all of Thedas as well. It's discomfiting to realize that we're all that's standing in the way of total chaos."

"I definitely like it better when we know what we're up against and can just march in and kick its ass," Bull admitted. "For what it's worth, between total chaos and the Inquisitor? Smart money's on the Inquisitor."

That brought a smile to Rosalie's lips. "Thanks, Bull."

* * *

The Inquisition rode into the city together early in the evening, using Josephine's idea to have the Inquisitor, her advisors and all of their soldiers parade through the city for all to see and speak of before making their way to the palace.

Rosalie had never been to Halamshiral before. She knew the history, of course. An elven city that had stood for four hundred years before the Exalted March came to reclaim the land for Orlais. She knew the basics of its present as well; that it was the home of Celene's winter palace. That the elves weren't sectioned off in an Alienage, but formed the bulk of its population. Humans were the minority there, though still the upper class, with most choosing to keep to the safety of the city's high quarter. She knew all of that, but wasn't quite prepared for the looks as she and her advisors rode through its streets.

They were greeted with fear and contempt in equal measure by the elves that watched them pass, many of them not brave enough to peek out from behind the curtains of their modest homes. The unease was palpable, it being barely a year since the Empress' soldiers had marched in and burned down the slums to put an end to their rebellion. A year was far from enough for those scars to heal. Rosalie couldn't help but feel relieved knowing their journey would not take them past the burnt husks of buildings left in the wake of such tragedy.

Even here, there was undeniably some interest in seeing the famous Herald of Andraste. Some elven children who had heard the stories ran alongside her horse begging to see the mark on her hand. They squealed with delight before running back to their mothers when she slipped her glove off and let the anchor release a small, harmless burst of green magic.

Still, it was a relief when they eventually passed through the gates into the city's high quarter, where their reception could not have been more different. Carriages had been arriving throughout the day from every part of Orlais as the nobles poured in to attend Celene's grand ball, and this part of the city was abuzz with excitement.

Many attendees were staying with friends and relatives within the city, which meant the streets were crawling with servants rushing out to get whatever was required to keep their sudden influx of guests happy. Halamshiral's fancier taverns were similarly overwhelmed, a disheartening fact to Bull, Varric, and whoever else in their party was hoping to slip away from the festivities once their mission was behind them to see about cards and ale.

The Inquisition, at least, did not have to worry about accommodations. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons had included suites in the guest wing of the palace as part of his invitation to the Inquisition. That was for later, however. In order to make the grandest entrance possible, they had perfectly timed their arrival to coincide with the beginning of the palace festivities.

"You're sure about this no mask thing?" Rosalie murmured to Leliana once they had both dismounted and handed their horses off to the stable hands.

"Trust me," Leliana replied, her voice just as quiet. "Anyone you know here is used to seeing you with your mask _on._ They will be too distracted by the sight of a full face to be wondering if your eyes and chin look familiar."

Rosalie nodded, understanding the idea better now. "A bard is most effective hidden in plain sight."

Leliana gave a pleased smile at that. "Exactly."

There was no time to speak further after that. In the next moment Cullen let Rosalie know that her escort was ready, and then it was time to go inside. As she turned to walk away, she felt Leliana grip her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. "You are the Inquisitor. You know how it works here. Command their attention. Earn their admiration. Play the Game, and play it well. I will be at your side as much as I can be," she promised.

It was exactly what Rosalie needed to hear. It wasn't so far from what Mathis would have told her, in fact.

Six soldiers marched ahead of her through the gate, suddenly stepping aside and clasping their hands to their chest to allow their Inquisitor to go on ahead. The display left Gaspard looking suitably impressed. There would be several problems concerning the Grand Duke that Rosalie would need to find answers for that night, and she would need to watch him very closely for those answers.

He was her bard master's patron, which meant they'd met before, albeit only briefly. There was every chance Mathis had let slip that his spy at the conclave and the woman who had risen to the rank of Inquisitor were one and the same - in which case the man before her would have expectations. Even if Mathis had said nothing, there was always the chance Gaspard would recognize her and draw conclusions of his own. As always with those who knew the Game, the trick would be to listen carefully for the clues and hidden meanings. For what the Grand Duke said _and_ didn't say.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan! We meet at last! I've heard so much about you," the man said, his voice more warm and sincere than most at court ever managed to sound. "Bringing the Templars into your ranks was not just a brilliant military move, but a clever political ploy as well. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais!"

It was hard not to feel out of her depth against a man who not long ago had almost stolen an Empire out from under his own cousin, not to mention that he had already been a decorated war hero by the time Mathis had found Rosalie and her sister begging on the streets for scraps.

Still, he wouldn't have been pushing his potential usefulness to her quite so firmly if he thought he already had the Inquisitor in his pocket.

"I can see many benefits to such an alliance," she replied. An answer worthy of the Game: flatter your opponent, say nothing that isn't true but give no clue as to which way you truly lean. Her bard master had trained her well, after all.

"Keep the image firmly in mind. We may see it materialize before the end of the evening," the man replied. It was disconcerting how easily the words came to him, considering how life changing that outcome would be for all involved. Of course, the War of the Lions had been going on for over a year, and had been a life or death matter for him and many others since its beginning. That was something Rosalie understood better than most in the Inquisition.

Gaspard went on to warn her about Briala, a former servant of Celene's who had an underground army of elves at her command and every reason to interfere with the peace talks. He went out of his way, in fact, to point out that the elf had motivation to wish Celene harm, a statement that only made Rosalie more suspicious of Gaspard. Still, Leliana had warned her about Briala before they'd even left Skyhold. She'd heard the rumours herself that Briala was a former lover of the Empress. It would be foolish to discount her as an important piece of the puzzle.

Once their conversation was concluded, Gaspard smiled, bowed, and offered out his hand. Together, they linked arms and made their way past the guests who were milling around by the courtyard fountain.

"Is that the Inquisitor?" she heard someone sneer as she passed by.

"What? A Marcher? Don't be absurd!" someone else scoffed dismissively.

Rosalie couldn't help but smile. Some Orlesians were simply far too easy to fool. It remained to be seen if she would get by the Empress so easily.

* * *

The announcer bowed as she entered the ballroom, and gestured her to where she ought to stand before he called her name. Flanked by two armoured guards, he stepped forward and unrolled the scroll he was holding. As he raised it up in front of his face, a general hush settled over the gathered crowd.

"And now, presenting: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and accompanying him… Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan. Daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick! Shepherd and leash of the wayward order of Templars, purger of heretics from the ranks of the faithful! Champion of the blessed Andraste herself!"

It was positively surreal to be at court with all eyes upon her, rather than just a pretty face in the background, there only to watch, or perhaps to catch the eye of some mark her master needed her to seduce for information. It was even stranger to hear everything that happened to her since leaving for the conclave summarized so succinctly. They'd made it sound like she'd done it all on purpose, when in Rosalie's mind it was all just things that had happened while she'd somehow managed not to end up dead.

Her best smile fixed so firmly in place it made her jaw ache, Rosalie looked to where the Empress stood above the ballroom and sank into a well-practiced courtly bow. From there, she followed Gaspard on his slow procession towards the Empress.

As someone accustomed to wearing a mask, it was hard not to feel exposed as she felt the stares of everyone upon her. Her expression couldn't waver - even the slightest twitch would be measured for weakness - and she absolutely could not look to the crowd for familiar faces, though she was certain they were out there. _Eyes on the Empress_ , was her mantra with every slow, measured step.

And yet, when that familiar mask came into view; silver and set with sapphires, her gaze couldn't help but flicker towards it, only for the briefest moment. Mathis was watching her, arms folded across his chest. He wore a knowing smile, one that widened ever so slightly when he caught her looking in his direction.

She cursed inwardly at the realization that this was a proud moment for him. And what was worse... knowing he was proud of her still made her feel _good_.

* * *

The meeting with the Empress went about as well as could be expected. There were no slips at any rate, nothing to embarrass the Inquisition as best she could tell. Their problem for the moment was that the Inquisition was an unknown quantity as far as the Game was concerned. Nobody wanted to have an opinion about them yet, since nobody was sure what the general opinion was. Nobody wanted to be the first to be seen interacting with that strange group of people all dressed in red with no masks on their faces.

Winning over as many people as they could would be an important challenge of the evening, and not only if they were to have any hope of foiling a plot that would plunge Orlais into chaos. The fate of the Inquisition itself and its continued success in southern Thedas was also at stake here. If the Inquisition ended up shunned by the court, it would become increasingly difficult to find anyone willing to work with them among the nobility, which in turn would hurt their ability to move troops around as they needed. There was a lot more riding on tonight's outcome than Celene's life.

Protecting Celene was the best thing for Rosalie to focus on for the moment, however, and to that end, she made her way out of the ballroom to where Leliana had asked to meet her for a discussion. Rosalie doubted that her little glance in Mathis' direction had gone unnoticed by someone as adept at the game as the Nightingale, and was expecting a stern reminder of where her loyalties were supposed to lie.

Before she made it as far as her rendezvous, a hand tightly gripped her wrist to tug her back into a storage closet. Before Rosalie knew what was going on, she'd been shoved into a wall and a hand was covering her mouth. She reacted on instinct, letting the mark on her hand suddenly flash a bright green that startled her assailant, allowing her to snatch her hand free and shove them back.

It was only then that the woman who had grabbed her came into focus. The many skirts of her powder blue ball gown seemed to cushion the fall as she stumbled back and landed on her bottom.

"Lila?" she gasped.

"Good to know you haven't forgotten your own sister," she replied, _hmph_ ing just a bit as Rosalie helped her to her feet. Then she pushed her mask up to rest on the top of her head, revealing a face that mirrored Rosalie's in all but the subtlest of ways. The hug that followed took Rosalie by surprise, but she returned the embrace just as tightly, having to admit that she was pleased to see her twin in spite of everything that was happening around them.

"Now hurry up and get out of whatever _that_ is so we can swap," Lila said with a grin.

Rosalie blinked in confusion. "Swap?"

Lila nodded. "You need to investigate 'Ambassador' Briala. That means going where you're not supposed to be. The Inquisition needs its leader to be present at the party, however. That's where I come in." She sank into a flourishing bow. "Your decoy."

That made Rosalie sigh wistfully. Certainly that's how she and her sister had always worked together before. The Game was far easier to win for someone who could be two places at once, after all. The problem was, she had no idea where her sister's loyalties lay. She wasn't entirely convinced where _hers_ lay beyond wanting the Inquisition to succeed. Letting someone else, even her own sister, take her place at the party seemed far too reckless.

She didn't need to say so, of course. Lila could read her like a book. "What's wrong? I'm here to help you, _ma soeur,"_ she said gently.

"No. You're here because Mathis told you to be," Rosalie answered. "I can't trust you with this, Lila. Not now."

"This is what you have to say to me?" Lila's face fell and she looked… genuinely hurt, an expression that made a stab of guilt slice Rosalie in the chest. "I haven't seen you in months," she continued, "I thought you were _dead._ It was weeks before word reached us that someone called Trevelyan was the Herald of Andraste. I cried for days, I was so relieved I'd not lost you."

"I'm sorry you went through that," Rosalie murmured quietly. "But I have to do what's best for the Inquisition. I can't just hand over any control I have over this situation to Mathis. His loyalty is to his patron."

"His loyalty is to _you._ He told me to help you however I could. To give you whatever you needed and to tell you that you have our support no matter what." Lila's eyes began to shine with the threat of tears as she said that, but in the next moment she lowered her mask back into place. "But if you're too important for the likes of your own sister now, so be it. I guess you're on your own instead."

At that, she slipped from the storage room, shutting the door firmly behind her as she left.

Rosalie sagged into the wall behind her and cringed, wishing all of this could be somebody else's problem for a change.


	8. Wicked Hearts

Chapter Eight: Wicked Hearts

* * *

Leliana scanned the crowd as best she could whilst still appearing to be busy tasting the wine one of the servants had brought her. To the untrained eye, she was swirling the golden liquid around in its glass, taking her time to savour its scent and colour before the first taste. In truth, she was watching everyone who was in her immediate vicinity - and aware of everyone who wasn't, but should be.

Rosalie had failed to meet with her. Already she'd managed to lose track of her Inquisitor, and that didn't bode well. Still, the worst thing to do would be to appear to panic, so she waited, and watched for the other person who currently held her concern: Morrigan.

They hadn't crossed paths for years, with the last meeting being but a brief encounter when the apostate had first arrived at court. That had been before Leliana's duties on behalf of Justinia had taken her from Val Royeaux. A more naive Leliana might have hoped that Morrigan wouldn't be a threat to Celene or the work of the Inquisition, but times were too dark for sentimentality. For now, she simply hoped that the apostate was not an enemy; she had strong enough memories of Morrigan's magic to know how dangerous she could be, after all.

"Leliana, it's been far too long," a deep but gentle voice called to her in greeting.

 _Ah, yes, the other one I need to watch out for._ She hadn't been expecting Mathis Travére to approach her so soon. Summoning a warm smile to her face, she turned to face the man and offered her hand for him to kiss. The Game had never placed them at odds in the past, nor had they ever worked together, but she knew enough of him to be wary - and enough not to let even a hint of that wariness show. "But of course. It is good to see you, my friend."

Mathis bowed deeply and pressed a kiss to the back of Leliana's hand. "You must come to call the next time your work brings you to Val Royeaux. I have a wonderful cook in my employ who makes the most darling animals out of marzipan, and a young protegé whose skill with a lute may rival even your own."

Her false smile widened at the subtle mention of Rosalie's sister. "You are far too kind. It's been years since I performed."

"More is the pity," he said with a sigh. "I recall your performances were always quite captivating." His gaze drifted towards the entrance to the main ballroom and he offered out his arm. "Would you perhaps care to dance, my lady?"

Leliana quickly considered the matter. There were bigger fish to fry than Mathis that evening, but keeping him busy would mean that she didn't need to worry about him confusing matters for Rosalie. She would simply have to trust that the Inquisitor could handle things on her own. "Nothing would please me more," she replied, setting her glass down to link arms with the man. Perhaps she could even learn something of what Gaspard was up to by staying close.

"The Inquisitor is quite enchanting, isn't she, my dear?" he mused blandly. "A beauty as rare as yourself. And there's something terribly familiar about her as well. Don't you think?"

He was trying to find out if Leliana knew Rosalie's true identity, and she was mildly insulted that he thought perhaps it might have escaped her notice. "Do you know who she reminds _me_ of? The bard Gaspard brought to court before the war began. You remember, don't you? She had dark hair like the Inquisitor, and one of the most beautiful singing voices I've ever heard at court."

"Melcendre," he offered, voice darkening just a touch. "A tragedy for one with a voice so pure to die so young."

Leliana let her smile soften and nodded in agreement. Cheap, perhaps, to remind him that Gaspard's last agent had died under mysterious circumstances, but if he was going to idly threaten to expose Rosalie, she was all too happy to sink to his level. Besides, they both knew he had nothing to gain from revealing Rosalie's true origins. No, the greatest chance to gain power here was for Rosalie to be reminded of all that she owed him, to have her wrapped around his finger once more. _Not if_ I _can help it,_ Leliana told herself.

* * *

The Inquisitor stared down at the key in her hand, wondering again who she could trust and who to be wary of. The mage she had just met _certainly_ should have fallen into the latter category, and yet there was something about Morrigan's nature that made Rosalie believe her: a bluntness that was oddly refreshing in the midst of all these two-faced Orlesians.

It was either a lead or a trap, and either way it was worth investigating. Her first thought had been to look for Leliana, but her feet had stilled beneath her the moment she saw her Spymaster dancing with Mathis. There was no way of knowing what she should make of that. All she knew was that she had no desire to be near the man herself, especially not in the midst of the Game where she could do nothing but smile politely and pretend she was happy to see him.

Instead, she chose to leave the ballroom and investigate the key herself. In this case, it seemed prudent to find some of her companions to bring along, just in case she needed backup. That meant she had to look for them under the guise of _mingling._

Rosalie had never been to Halamshiral before, but there were plenty of nobles there with whom she was well acquainted - at least by reputation, even if they had never previously met in person. It gave her a good idea of who to approach and who to avoid, when to flirt and when to be demure. After all, the Game was a subtle dance, and she had been trained to dance it well. Here her weapons were her wit and her charm. She answered insults with backhanded compliments, implied agreement with the most asinine opinions, artfully side-stepped questions best left unanswered and never let her smile waver.

Had it always felt so exhausting? Perhaps having her sister at her side had made it easier. Or perhaps she was simply out of practice. Either way, all she could think of for the moment was how desperately she wanted to escape, to hole up somewhere with Iron Bull and forget about the Game.

Maybe that was why she soon found that her footsteps had brought her to where the horned giant stood alone beside a window. In one hand he held a bowl of spiced nuts, and in the other a flute of sparkling wine that looked ridiculously tiny gripped between his meaty fingers. He looked about as happy to be there as she felt.

"You got anything that needs killing?" he sighed. "Because the nobles keep messing with me and they think I don't know they're doing it. This keeps up, I'm going to wear somebody's skull as _my_ fancy little mask."

"I _did_ warn you." Rosalie gave him a wry smile. "Anyway, notice anything I might have missed, Ben-Hassrath?"

Bull just shrugged. "This place is a mess. Everyone's trying so hard to hide that they're walking around in plumage. Makes it tough to spot the dangerous lies, as opposed to the normal stuff." For a moment he looked Rosalie up and down, a faint smile touching his lips. "Oh, but that couple over there with the silver masks? The woman's doing one of the nobles and the guy's doing two different servants." Realising that was unhelpful, he shrugged again and simply said, "You've got more of a handle on this than I ever could, that's for damn sure."

The compliment brought a smile to her lips, and she found herself stepping close and asking in a low voice, "Any interest in a dance?"

A grin split Bull's face. "Oh, shit, the nobles would love that. Can you imagine Josephine's face trying to explain that we were…" Suddenly he raised an eyebrow. "Wait, were you serious? Because if so, then yeah, absolutely. I mean, once we stop the assassins and all that."

"Glad to hear it. And in the meantime, if you've had quite enough of being messed with, I have something I need to investigate." She opened her hand to reveal the key that Morrigan had given her. "Coming?"

"Boss, I thought you'd never ask," he sighed with relief.

* * *

The elven servants they found lying in puddles of red weren't a _welcome_ sight exactly, even if they were better company than some of the guests at the ball. They soon encountered Venatori agents in the servant's wing, enough that Rosalie was amazed to have made it back without any rips in her clothing. _Possibly_ there was a drop or two of blood, but luckily that blended in quite well with the red of her uniform.

It hadn't exactly been a surprise when the self-proclaimed elven ambassador, Briala, approached to make her case. The woman seemed convinced that Rosalie would have a place at the negotiations before the night was through and wanted to try to gain favour for the elves, if she could. Rosalie didn't object to the woman's position, but the idea of having a say did make her stomach turn. Everyone would have their own opinion on what was best for Orlais, from her advisors and companions, to the nobles - half of whom were still sneering at her - to the elves pouring the drinks. There'd be no way to get through the night without making new enemies, and Rosalie already had far more of those than she'd have liked.

Arriving back at the ballroom, it was a surprise when Gaspard's sister, Florianne, approached her. Mathis had worked closely with Gaspard and become a part of the man's inner circle. In the past, Rosalie had helped the Grand Duke's cause by doing whatever her bard master had asked, but she had no recollection of the Grand Duchess ever being involved in those schemes personally. Whoever's side Florianne was on, Rosalie doubted it was her brother's.

"Come, dance with me," Florianne said, already moving towards where the other couples had gathered. "Spies will not hear us on the dance floor."

Rosalie decided that it would look best if _she_ were the one to lead, and quickly pulled her partner into hold. She knew the woman wouldn't argue; whatever Florianne's game here, she wanted to be seen to be friendly with the Inquisitor.

The steps were easy, and from practicing with her sister, Rosalie was as used to leading as she was being led. Her feet moved them through the steps without her having to give the matter much thought at all, which was a relief considering how much she would need her wits about her for other matters. Their conversation was as much a dance as what their bodies were doing. Every word had to be carefully chosen, their tones had to be just so or either one of them might reveal too much. Florianne had danced with words from a very young age, that much was clear. Rosalie supposed a Grand Duchess would be used to playing the Game to much higher stakes than a lowly bard from Ferelden.

It quickly became apparent that Florianne was trying to convince Rosalie that she'd turned on her brother, that her loyalty was to Empress Celene and that she wished to prevent any attack. _To what end?_ That was always the important question to ask, Mathis had taught Rosalie early in her training. A master of the game did nothing that didn't further their own ends. _Patriotic duty_ was not a good enough reason. Florianne had something to gain from offering up her own brother.

"You have little time," Florianne whispered just as Rosalie dropped her into a low dip, much to the amusement of the crowd. To the sound of clapping and gasps of delight, they both stood up straight and moved into the next steps. Only then did Rosalie notice that they were the only pair left on the dancefloor, and all eyes were now upon them.

"The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes," the Grand Duchess warned. "In the royal wing garden, you will find the Captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard's secrets. I'm sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming."

Their dance at an end, they stepped back from one another and bowed. Rosalie feigned a warm smile. "We'll see what the night has in store, won't we?" was all she said in answer to that.

As she climbed the stairs leading up from the dance floor, she found Cullen, Leliana and Josephine all waiting for her.

"Were you _dancing_ with Duchess Florianne?" Leliana asked. She and Rosalie exchanged wary looks, but neither one mentioned their missed meeting or Leliana's dance with Mathis.

Rosalie glanced over her shoulder in the direction Florianne had gone, but couldn't spot her through the crowd. "The Grand Duchess tried to convince me Gaspard is the traitor, but I'm not sure I buy it."

"Then… the attack on the Empress will happen tonight," Cullen noted with a sigh.

"Warning Celene is pointless," Josephine chimed in. "She needs to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat."

It was true, and Rosalie was starting to feel she was running out of options. She was just about to bring up the mercenary Captain Florianne had mentioned when Leliana made a suggestion that completely caught her off guard.

"Perhaps we should let her die."

It took every ounce of Rosalie's willpower not to let her expression change in the face of words that felt like being doused with a glass of icy water. People weren't likely to overhear them this close to the band, but the conversation had to at least _appear_ to be calm and friendly. That meant that her face needed to remain neutral no matter what.

"I thought we were here to stop the assassination!" It wasn't just that Leliana was being cold and calculating. Seeing it reminded Rosalie of Mathis and that was hard to take, especially given that she'd seen them dancing with one another. In the face of that, it was hard to sound anything but outraged.

"Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor." The Spymaster's voice was firm. "What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious."

"And it doesn't need to be Celene," said Cullen. "She's right."

"Do you realize what you're suggesting, Leliana?" Josephine gasped. Rosalie would have wondered the same thing, but she'd known enough bards in her time. Still, Leliana was certainly bold to suggest what amounted to treason in the very room the Empress herself was standing.

"Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one," the Spymaster countered.

"You're asking me to decide what's best for Orlais," Rosalie accused. In truth, that was the part that bothered her. Bards were trained to toy with people's lives, even to claim those lives when they had to, but it was their patrons who toyed with the fates of nations, not them.

"More than that. Whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect all of Thedas," said Cullen. The added pressure made Rosalie's stomach turn. She began to feel dizzy and lightheaded.

Her advisors each went on to say what they thought she should do, not one of them agreeing with the other. "This is, however, your decision, Inquisitor. Not ours," said Josephine. Then each of them looked to her expectantly.

The colour had drained from her cheeks, her pulse was racing, and her stomach twisted in knots. All she could think was that needed to get away before too many people noticed that her hands were shaking at her sides.

"I… need some air, I think. Excuse me." She quickly moved towards the vestibule, ignoring Leliana's hushed pleas that she stay to speak awhile longer. She ignored them, and once she was a few steps away, she knew she was clear; Leliana was hardly going to chase her in front of everyone.

* * *

Back at his spot beside the courtyard window, Bull sighed as he found the bottom of the bowl of spiced cashews. He hadn't seen any servants come by with trays of appetisers in a while either, and the party didn't have a whole lot going for it besides the food. Now there was nothing for it but to try to not look too bored as he simply listened to what those around him had to say.

A soft smile touched his lips as he heard some guests speaking excitedly about the Inquisitor's enchanting moves on the dance floor as they passed him, and he felt sorry to have missed it. The sight of Rosalie dancing with her daggers across a battlefield was always pretty spectacular, after all. _Probably not quite as hot without her being covered in sweat and blood..._

Then, just as his thoughts began to wander to places unsuitable for when he was in public, a familiar woman in a silver mask and powder blue ball gown appeared, almost as if summoned by his lustful thoughts.

It was Rosalie, he was sure of it, though it made no sense for her to be out of her Inquisition uniform. Still, the contrast of her dark hair against pale skin, those slender shoulders that were so much stronger than they appeared, those long, dexterous fingers… He coughed awkwardly as he noticed his thoughts becoming distracted once more. The point was, not a lot of people looked much like Rosalie, and the woman approaching him looked _exactly_ like Rosalie.

"You're the Iron Bull," she said by way of greeting as she bobbed into a curtsy. _And sounds like Rosalie,_ Bull noted. Did she really think the mask would throw him? He'd know those lips anywhere. "I am Lila Avery. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

 _Avery, huh?_ Well, fine, he could play along for now. Maybe there was a reason for it, though if that was true, she was wasting time talking to him. "How'd you know my name?" he asked.

She giggled at that. "Besides the fact that the announcer called it when you entered alongside the Inquisitor?"

He just shrugged. "Everyone else here seems happy enough calling me _oxman_ or _savage_. I just assumed nobody was actually listening when I was announced."

"This _is_ the Winter Palace, Ser Bull," she said with a gentle laugh. "It's safe to assume there is always _someone_ listening."

He opened his mouth to respond to that, but the words never came as his gaze was suddenly drawn elsewhere. Spy or no spy, even Bull struggled to keep the surprise from his face when he saw Rosalie - the _real_ Rosalie, he assumed - walk into the room, still dressed in her red Inquisition uniform, same as him. He couldn't help but do a double-take, and the woman beside him in the ballgown smirked as she noticed it.

His face fell though as he noticed that something was wrong. _That_ Rosalie had that sort of pale green colour to her face that humans seemed to get when they were about to puke. He'd seen his men look that way enough times to recognise it. Her hands were shaking, and she was walking pretty fast too, not stopping to speak with anyone like she had earlier. She didn't even look his way, just hurried out into the courtyard.

Without much thought, Bull moved to follow her, but the doppelganger beside him placed a hand on his arm. "Not yet," she urged in a whisper.

Stepping closer to him so that her back was turned to most of the room, the woman plucked what seemed to be a small marble from the bodice of her dress, which she then dropped to the floor and subtly rolled across the room with a nudge of her foot.

"The trouble with masks," she murmured, leaning closer to him still, "is they do rather make it difficult to watch where one is stepping."

Bull barely had time to smirk at that before a nobleman - one of the very ones who had been giving him a hard time that night - stepped on the marble and slipped. Spectacular mayhem followed. The nobleman managed to rip his trousers as he suddenly found himself doing the splits. On his way down, he managed to crash into a poor servant carrying a tray of drinks, which in turn were catapulted across the room, drenching a couple of noblewomen in wine and ruining their dresses.

This inevitably led to more servants rushing over to help, people with ruined clothes shouting in outrage and the nobleman simultaneously trying to get to his feet with his dignity intact whilst somehow trying to insist that it was all the servant's fault. Bull wouldn't have minded staying a while to watch the commotion, but the point of it wasn't lost on him. It was a distraction, a chance to slip away and follow after Rosalie.

Not saying a word, the woman who looked just like the Inquisitor linked arms with him and tugged him towards the courtyard. Bull was happy to bring her along. He wanted some answers about who she was almost as much as he wanted to know that Rosalie was okay.

They found her shut away in a storage closet on the other side of the courtyard, and opened the door just in time to see her doubled over behind some crates, puking her guts up from the sounds of things.

As Bull quickly closed the door behind them, Rosalie's look-alike rushed forward to whisper comforting words to Rosalie and rub her back, which was when it finally hit Bull who he was dealing with.

"Oh shit, you have a sister?" He was annoyed with himself for not putting that together sooner. In his defence though, they didn't have siblings under the Qun. Not ones they knew about, at any rate.

The look-alike pushed her half-mask up to rest on the top of her head, revealing a face that differed from Rosalie's in only the subtlest of ways. He doubted most could tell them apart, in fact. "As I said, I'm Lila. Nice to meet you." At that, she helped Rosalie over to a crate so that she could sit down for a moment.

Rosalie looked a little better now. There was some colour back in her cheeks, at least, though her hands were still shaking. "I probably should have mentioned the whole twin thing," she admitted.

"Something happened," Bull noted, deciding it was best for the Inquisitor stay focused on the mission, even if she did look like she needed to be hugged tightly and carried off to a bedroom to rest just then.

"Just my Spymaster wanting me to write the course of Orlesian history," Rosalie muttered. He noticed her clench her hands tightly to try to keep them still.

Crouching down so that they were at eye level, he touched a hand to her cheek. "Hey. We came here to stop Corypheus. This Game was always going to have higher stakes than the one you're used to playing," he said softly. He understood the problem because it was the same one she'd faced countless times since being named Inquisitor: Rosalie was used to orders, not decisions. The fear of making the wrong choice was crushing her in that moment. "Whatever happens here tonight, as long as you stop that asshole's plan, you made the right call," he added, hoping that was what she needed to hear.

It took her a moment to respond, but then she nodded. "I still want to stop the assassination, if we can."

"You have a plan, boss?"

"Florianne said Gaspard's mercenary Captain is waiting in the royal wing and that he knows everything about the attack. I just feel like the moment I go to investigate it is the moment our assassin will strike."

"So let me help you," Lila pleaded. "You can finish this the way we would when we worked together. _Ma soeur,_ I hate to see you like this."

Rosalie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you know how much my advisors would kill me if I willingly sent along an impostor?"

"Right now, they might prefer it to a green-faced Inquisitor whose hands are shaking," Lila countered.

Given all Bull had learned about Orlesian politics that night, it was a hard point to argue with. "You sure you shouldn't take her up on the offer, boss? It would free you up to investigate this mercenary captain, and the assassin might not strike if they think they see you close to the Empress."

"She's here with my former Master, and that means she's working for Gaspard."

Lila shook her head. "I don't _want_ to work for Mathis. I want to be at your side. The Game feels meaningless without you. _Ma soeur_ , please! Anything you ask of me, I will do it. Give me a chance to prove myself," she begged.

An emotional plea. Bull had to hand it to the woman, if she was lying, she was damn good at it.

"How do I know Mathis didn't send you to me?" Rosalie asked quietly. She believed her sister though, Bull could tell. She _wanted_ to believe her sister.

"Because you _know_ me," Lila said softly.

Bull saw it in Rosalie's eyes the moment she decided to go ahead with her sister's plan. There was resignation in her face, like she'd finally acknowledged to herself that she couldn't untangle this web of lies on her own.

Given how normal it was for them to swap outfits at a party, it only took them a couple of minutes to have Lila dressed in the red Inquisition uniform, complete with Rosalie's neat braid and bare face.

Lila slipped from the room to rejoin the party first. It might start unwanted rumours if the Inquisitor was caught sneaking out of a storage room with two other party guests, after all. Once they were alone, Rosalie - now dressed in powder blue ball gown - turned to Bull and said, "This is a really bad idea, isn't it?"

Bull shrugged. "This whole party is one big shit-storm. Sometimes when there's no good ideas to be had, you just gotta choose a bad one, roll with it and hope for the best." Given all the different players trying to use Rosalie as their pawn, he couldn't really fault any decision she came to right now, just so long as she decided _something_.

"Right. Hoping for the best… I can do that. I think."

Grinning, he reached around to settle a hand on her ass and squeeze. "Get through this, and I'll give you a night you'll never forget, boss," he said in a low murmur.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and shivered. Then a faint smile came to her lips and then she moved for the door. "Let's go."


	9. A Grand Finale

Chapter Nine: A Grand Finale

* * *

Rosalie and Bull didn't fetch anyone else for backup to sneak into the Royal Wing. It didn't feel necessary. Her skill and experience as a bard made finding her way around the off-limits areas of a palace easy enough, and Bull was capable of making most guards shit their pants with a look.

There hadn't been much trouble so far. One of Briala's agents had almost gotten herself killed by a Venatori but Rosalie managed to shove him out of a window before he could, much to Bull's amusement. Now Briala's agent had gone to find safety with Commander Cullen having told them all she knew, and the duo were back to searching.

As she picked up a letter from the desk in the room, Rosalie gave in to the urge to reach up and adjust the mask on her face. She hadn't had to wear one in a few months, and apparently her skin had gotten used to the freedom of not having one.

Seeming to sense her discomfort, Bull asked, "What's with the masks anyway? Just fashion? Most of them don't cover up enough of the face to hide people's expressions, and they don't seem like the kind of thing you'd wear for comfort."

Rosalie knew Bull had been in the south long enough to have learned that already. If he was asking her about it, it was most likely to poke her to get her talking about what was _really_ bothering her.

She kept her eyes on what she was reading as she answered, though she'd already dismissed the letter as unimportant. "It's a way to show your family and your class. Even the servants wear them to show which house they serve. This one identifies me as a ward of Mathis Travére. Oh, and wearing a mask that isn't yours is a capital offense, so I'd thank you to keep quiet that this is Lila's. I don't _think_ they'd hang the only person with a hand that can close rifts, but I'd rather not find out."

"You didn't think you'd have to wear one again, huh?" Bull noted. Right as always.

She set down the letter. "This is the last time." She said it so firmly it was almost like a promise to herself.

"Understood." Bull's lips twitched in amusement before he asked, "Blindfolds are still allowed though, right?"

It was impossible not to smile in spite of her mood and their current location. "Right." At that, she pushed away from the desk and walked down the narrow servant's corridor that led from the room.

"Sounds like a bad guy, this Mathis Travére," Bull said quietly, moving to follow her.

"Sneaking behind closed doors at parties is part of a bard's job more often than not. The things some of these people keep under lock and key…" She paused to shudder. "Mathis doesn't have any slaves chained up in his basement or children waiting in his bed like _some_ people I could mention at this party. He would tell you he's a good Andrastian and few would argue."

"But you would?" Bull guessed.

Her first instinct was to shake her head vehemently, but something stopped her. "Ten years ago, refugees from Ferelden poured across the border. Most of them didn't have more than the clothes on their backs. There wasn't enough food for them. Not enough work. Most of them ended up begging for scraps or working in brothels. My sister and I were fourteen. We had nothing. _He_ saved us. No one else would have done that."

"Never let you forget it though."

Her feet stilled. She knew what he was doing because she'd done it to others herself. Usually it was easier to gently nudge people into talking about themselves than it was to interrogate them. Being aware of it didn't stop her speaking though. Bull was the person she'd agreed to be _not the Inquisitor_ around, after all, and she felt more comfortable telling him than anyone else.

"When you're that young and your bard master tells you to seduce a Chevalier or to steal someone's prized possessions, even to kill their servants as a warning… You do it. And worse. You don't even think. You do anything to please him because he is your whole world. Everything you trust, everything you _are_ right down to your name is because of him." She turned to look up at him in that moment, curious if he'd heard anything that sounded familiar to him.

Bull's expression softened and he leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. As he straightened, he let out a soft sigh, and said, "You know, bo–"

"–You painted Orlesian arseholes!" a voice cut across him suddenly. It sounded Fereldan, and quite irate. "When I get out of this, I'll butcher you like the pigs you are!"

Neither Rosalie nor Bull needed to say a word. They just shared a look, then sprinted in the direction of that voice.

A moment later Bull was heaving open a set of heavy double doors, and the two ran out into a private courtyard. The moment they realized they were surrounded by archers, the door slammed shut behind them. The source of the voice seemed to be a man who'd been tied up - the Mercenary Captain they'd been sent to find, Rosalie guessed.

Truly, neither the archers or the mercenary captain were her main concern just then. A few feet above the ground, a rift was brewing, sparks of green magic spreading out from it along with that familiar hum that Rosalie was always half listening for these days. Just as when she came close to any rift, the mark on her hand let out a little burst of magic and began to glow, awakening a tingly ache that spread all the way up her arm. There was no hiding her true identity now.

"Ah, so here we have the true Inquisitor," Grand Duchess Florianne's voice came from where she was positioned on a balcony, looking down on them. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Trevelyan. I wasn't certain you'd attend. You were such a challenge to read on the dance floor, I had no idea I was addressing a double."

Rosalie didn't bother mentioning that it _had_ been her on the dance floor. "I fear I'm a bit busy at the moment, if you were looking for a dance with the _true Inquisitor."_

The woman looked far too pleased with herself as she answered, "Yes, I see that. It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him."

"At this point, I'd think disappointment was an old friend." If Rosalie sounded confident, it was only because she was backed into a corner with no choice but to fight. Well, and because Bull was fighting at her side. That always made it easier to feign confidence even when the odds were stacked against them.

"You poor, deluded thing," Florianne scoffed. "You don't know half of what Samson and I have planned. And now, I suppose you never will. In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I will assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you - the _real_ you - out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you'll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They'll be talking of it for years."

While the woman spoke, Rosalie focused on reaching her hands into the hidden folds beneath her skirt to grip the hilts of the daggers that were strapped to her thighs. When she drew them, Florianne abruptly stopped speaking and instead nodded to her men in the courtyard below.

"Kill her and bring me her marked hand. It will make a fine gift for the master."

At that, Florianne made a swift exit, the rift burst open, and it was time for Rosalie and Bull to fight for their lives.

* * *

Leliana carefully watched the Inquisitor from across the room, feeling that something was amiss. The woman had left the ballroom seemingly in a panic, then returned looking calmer and more relaxed than ever. Not to mention she seemed to take a moment to recognize Josephine when the ambassador came to speak with her, and had walked right past Vivienne without even checking in with the woman. Strange.

Of course, it was no secret to the spymaster that Rosalie had a twin sister, and that Mathis had trained the pair of them to impersonate one another easily. Besides, she had played the Game for far too long to dismiss niggling doubts as simple paranoia. The fact that Mathis was nowhere to be seen now only made her more suspicious.

She made her way to the Inquisitor's side in a calm, casual manner, being sure to stop and make smalltalk with some of the other guests along the way, her smile warm and friendly all the while. If it took a few minutes to reach her destination, it was only because the place was becoming quite crowded with most of the guests drifting back to the ballroom in anticipation of Empress Celene's speech.

"Leliana!" the Inquisitor said with a bright smile once the spymaster reached her side. The recognition proved nothing. Leliana was known at court, after all, and the Inquisitor's party _had_ been announced upon arrival.

"You've more colour in your cheeks now, Inquisitor. Some fresh air must have done you good, no?" Leliana asked.

"Absolutely. And the guest wing courtyard is quite lovely." The woman brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face, and Leliana noticed the telltale line at her temple where a mask's tie had been digging into the skin.

The spymaster affected a wistful sigh. "When this is over, we'll have to go there and share a bottle of Rowan's Rose like we did in Haven after you closed the breach, yes?"

The other woman smiled warmly. "I'd like that."

Well _that_ confirmed Leliana's suspicions. "I was wondering… Might we speak in private for a moment, Inquisitor? A rather urgent matter has recently come to my attention."

"Of course," came the reply, and the two stepped outside. It didn't take long to find an empty balcony to head to, since so many were flocking back to the ballroom by this point in the evening.

"We shouldn't stay out here too long," the impostor warned. "We don't know when–"

Leliana interrupted the sentence by abruptly drawing her dagger and holding it to the woman's throat. "You're Lila."

Lila closed her eyes and sighed. "You and Rosalie never shared a bottle of wine in Haven."

"No." She shoved Lila back against the wall and pressed the dagger in a little closer as she growled, "Now start talking."

"My sister went to investigate Gaspard's mercenary captain on a tip from the Grand Duchess," Lila answered calmly. Mathis had trained her well that her voice stayed calm and clear even when her life was on the line. "We swapped outfits in the hopes that seeing the Inquisitor in the ballroom would discourage the assassin."

"How do I know my Inquisitor is not tied up in a storage closet somewhere in her small clothes?"

Lila swallowed, eyeing the dagger carefully. "I don't think that's giving your Inquisitor enough credit. Besides, whether I'm lying or telling the truth, the fact remains that while we're out of sight, the Empress is in more danger." Then she looked Leliana in the eyes as her tone softened. "Please. We're on the same side and we don't have much time."

Leliana glared fiercely, aware that either Rosalie knew what she was doing or Mathis had outplayed them both. Either way, there was little she could do about it now, though she wasn't about to admit that. "Don't think that uniform or that pretty face will protect you if you do anything to harm our cause. If you make me regret sparing you, I will make you regret ever daring to put on that uniform."

"I'm on Rosalie's side, I will swear it in blood if you ask me to," Lila assured the spymaster.

Leliana let out a bitter, mocking laugh as she sheathed her dagger. "This is the Grand Game, Miss Avery. The only side anyone's on is their own."

* * *

Bull watched Rosalie drop to her knees and let out a frustrated scream as the rift slammed shut. The fight had been brutal with just the two of them, and far more was at stake than just their lives. Without taking a moment to catch her breath, Rosalie rose to her feet and rushed to the door. Finding it barred from the other side, she just kicked it and rushed to look for another exit. Time was short and they had to find a way to get to the Empress in time.

She was wound tighter than he'd ever seen her before, her shoulders stiff and her spine rigid. There was an endless list of things he could try in bed to help that tension dissipate, but there was very little he could for her right now: a realization that made him feel oddly helpless.

Rosalie's dress was torn and the way her hair had half escaped from its twisted updo might have made it look like he'd just taken her roughly up against the wall if it wasn't for the blood spatters too. Bull doubted he looked any better. He was already aware of a torn sleeve flapping against his arm, a bloody cut on his leg and several missing buttons from the front of his uniform.

It didn't help that Florianne had more of her agents waiting for them in the servant's corridor they followed out of the courtyard. It seemed they had no choice but to fight their way back to the Empress.

They knew they were close to the ballroom when they started to hear the music again. Turning a corner, they came to a set of double doors that seemed sure to lead back to the ballroom, judging by the volume of the noises they could hear. The only problem was the lone man standing in their way. The one who made Rosalie gasp and draw to a halt.

His hair was swept back into a queue with not one lock out of place and he stood with a rigid spine, hands clasped together behind his back. He spared Bull a disdainful glance, but otherwise stayed focused on Rosalie.

There were two things Bull could tell about the guy right away. First: he was confident that Rosalie wouldn't attack him. Second: Rosalie knew him, and pretty well if Bull was any judge.

He'd have bet money it was the bard master even before Rosalie sighed out the name, "Mathis."

"Not _Master_? Times have changed, haven't they, my dear," he said blandly, sounding bored with the conversation already. "I was hoping you would at least remember how to present yourself without me to guide you, but…" He gestured to the ruined gown Rosalie was wearing. "Never you fret, my dear. Your sister has taken your place. All you need do is wait here while things resolve themselves, hmm?"

"You're working with Florianne," Rosalie concluded, and Bull heard a note of heartbreak in her voice. If her Master had been on Corypheus' side from the start, it meant she had as well.

"Hardly," he sniffed. "But it wasn't difficult to figure out what she was up to. If the woman is going to go out of her way to get herself killed tonight, she might as well take Celene with her. Gaspard is the true Emperor of Orlais, whom you and I both swore to serve before this war even began." His tone grew more stern, as he asked, "Or had you forgotten?"

Rosalie didn't seem to know what to say in response to that, and Bull stayed silent as he waited for her to give him some kind of clue to let him know if she wanted his help telling this guy to go fuck himself.

"Your sister hasn't forgotten. She's played her part admirably, in fact. Should Florianne's attempt on the Celene's life fail, she is already in place so that 'the Inquisitor' can finish the job. Though I'm surprised you fell for her concerned sister act. I _did_ warn you in my letter that I would intervene if you refused to do as you were told."

Rosalie bravely pointed her dagger at the man, but Bull was sure Mathis would see the way her arm trembled or the way she had to clench her jaw to keep her voice from shaking. Bull certainly hadn't missed it. "Move," she said stiffly.

"Please," he scoffed, pushing her dagger aside and stepping in close to touch a hand to her cheek. "You are my creature. I made you what you are. You could never turn your blade on me. Let's stop this silliness and find you something else to wear, hmm?" the man's voice was soft, caring even, but that didn't make it any less painful for Bull to watch.

Unable to stay out of it anymore, especially considering what was at stake, Bull settled a hand on her shoulder, and asked in that deep, rumbling voice that always made her toes curl when they were alone, "Is this guy bothering you, boss?"

He felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as she gave her former bard master a venomous look, then stepped back from him. "Yes."

That was all Bull needed. In the next moment his fist connected with Mathis' face, cracking the mask he wore with a punch that knocked him clean off his feet.

Rosalie didn't even spare a glance for the man now groaning on the floor. "Let's go."

* * *

"Let all gathered attend, her Imperial Majesty will now address the court," the announcer was saying, just as Rosalie and Bull stepped into the now crowded ballroom. They weren't too late, Rosalie noted, much to her relief. There was little time though.

"No way I'll get close to them through all these people without getting everyone's attention," Bull leaned down to murmur in Rosalie's ear.

"I'll see what I can do," she whispered back, then started to weave her way into the crowd.

"My friends, we have lost much," the Empress began once all eyes were upon her. There were a few disapproving _tsks_ and incredulous stares as Rosalie pushed through. It was disrespectful not to stand still and listen when the Empress was speaking, and on an ordinary day could easily have landed her in the stocks. Matters were too urgent to worry about that right now.

"We have each seen a child, a lover, a friend consigned to the flames. Darkness has closed in around us, but even now there is light," the Empress continued. "We must be that light. We must lead our people safely through these troubled times. We must be their guiding star."

The words brought on a round of applause, and Celene gestured for Florianne to join her on the stage. "Tonight, the war dividing us must end," she said finally.

As Florianne stepped onto the stage, some movement on the opposite side of the ballroom caught Rosalie's eye. It was Lila, still posing as the Inquisitor. She was also making her way towards the Empress with hurried steps, a drawn dagger in hand, her path mirroring Rosalie's.

 _Maker, no…_ All Rosalie could think in that moment was that she would lose her sister. Even if Celene died and Gaspard took the throne, Celene's assassin would not be spared the punishment for treason. Her path through the crowd became a slightly more desperate one, involving more pushing and shoving, but already she could tell that she wasn't likely to intercept in time.

"My friends, we are here to witness a historic moment," Florianne began. "A great change is coming for all of us." From where she stood, Rosalie could see a flash of silver as Florianne drew a knife and moved in behind the Empress. "Isn't that right, Gaspard?"

Rosalie could only watch as in the next moment, Lila - _the Inquisitor_ to everyone else's eyes - rushed in from the side and threw herself into the Empress. Whatever happened next brought on horrified shrieks from the crowd, but from her angle, Rosalie couldn't see it for herself. Not until Celene's guards barrelled forwards to rush her to safety. That gave Rosalie a clear view of Lila looking paler than ever as she stumbled back, clutching a wound in her side.

"Lila!" Rosalie gasped, so overwhelmed with concern that all she could think to do was run to her sister.

She wasn't sure where Leliana had appeared from, but suddenly the Spymaster's hand landed on her arm and pulled her to a halt. "I'll see to Lila. You must deal with Florianne!" When still Rosalie hesitated, she added in a softer voice, "I will do all I can for her. Go!"

There wasn't time to question, only to draw her daggers and run.

"Florianne, what have you done?" Gaspard demanded, his gaze fixed on poor Lila, who now lay on the floor with Cullen and Leliana kneeling at her side.

"Don't be coy. This was _our_ plan! I did this for you, brother," she insisted, stepping backwards as she spoke. Doubtless she'd realized that the balcony behind her was the only escape route open to her now.

"Me?" he gasped. "Have you gone mad?" The panic in the Grand Duke's voice was real. He was an intelligent man, after all. Smart enough to predict that there was a chance his head would roll over a plot he'd had no true involvement in. Certainly smart enough to realize that the loss of the Inquisitor would bode ill for all of Thedas.

As Rosalie moved into place, so did some of the Inquisition soldiers. Peripherally, she was aware of the chaos in the ballroom. Florianne had people waiting in the wings, just as the Inquisition had. Fighting was breaking out everywhere, and unarmed nobles and servants were being caught up in the middle of it. "No. Not Gaspard. You did this for Corypheus."

Florianne sneered. "What a terrible guest you are, interrupting your host." Two Inquisition soldiers moved in to detain her, but she quickly dispatched them with the knife that was still red with Lila's blood. "For Corypheus, kill them!" she called, then ran to the balcony and jumped over the edge.

Rosalie was in hot pursuit, not even aware that Bull, Vivienne, and Varric were all right behind her. All she knew was that if Lila didn't survive the night, she _would_ be avenged.

Rolling into her landing as she jumped from the balcony, Rosalie noticed a gown abandoned on the ground, and hopped back to her feet just in time to see Florianne already moving towards the fountain of the garden where they'd first entered the palace.

She felt the ground shake just a little as Iron Bull landed beside her, with Vivienne sitting on one shoulder and Varric on the other.

"No time to waste, darling," Vivienne chided gently as she hopped down.

With a nod, Rosalie charged after her enemy, the sound of their footsteps telling her that her companions were following.

When they caught up to her, Florianne was dressed in some leather armour she must have been wearing beneath the discarded gown. That would allow her to move much more easily, and the woman was already fast. The dress Rosalie had borrowed from Lila would offer no such advantage.

The Grand Duchess stopped running and turned to face them, now armed with a bow she must have stashed in the bushes beneath the balcony, knowing she might need it. She nocked an arrow and aimed it at Rosalie. "You've stopped nothing, Inquisitor. The war will not end tonight, and while the Council of Heralds are busy devouring one another over what happened, Corypheus will come. His army will march on Orlais straight from the depths of a nightmare. And all Thedas will fall."

It was harder to care about any of that when Rosalie had just seen her sister cut down. "What a pity you won't live to see any of it," she snarled, stepping forwards.

"You don't think I came this far without an escape planned?" In that moment, she let the arrow fly, and Rosalie only just managed to turn out of its path in time.

There was a resounding clang as the courtyard gates slammed shut behind Rosalie and her companions, and in the moment that Rosalie's head turned to notice it, Florianne had managed to put more distance between them.

"If I bring him your hand, Corypheus won't care that the Empress still lives," she called from her perch atop the courtyard fountain, already nocking another arrow. "So good of you to attend my soirée."


	10. No More Games

Chapter Ten: No More Games

* * *

When she'd left Val Royeaux to attend the conclave in Haven, Rosalie had never imagined it would lead her here, to this moment. Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons gasped as the dagger pierced her heart. "That was for my sister," Rosalie snarled as the woman's arms went limp and her bow clattered to the ground.

She had meant to gently lay Florianne down on the cobblestones, but her tired arms refused to do anything but simply let go. The woman stumbled back and fell into the courtyard fountain, quickly turning the water red with her blood - not the most elegant end. Still, it was over.

As Rosalie caught her breath, she felt Bull's hand settle on her shoulder. It was a silent reminder that everything was all right and that she wasn't alone. She wasn't ready to speak yet, but she settled her hand atop his to squeeze it in gratitude.

"Inquisitor," someone called from the gate that led back into the palace. It was Charter, an elf Rosalie knew was one of Leliana's most trusted agents. Patting a bundle of cloth under one arm, she said, "Leliana thought you might be needing this."

Before Rosalie could ask what it was, the bundle was tossed to her, allowing her to unfold it and see for herself. An Inquisition dress uniform to replace the one she had given to her sister.

"You'll need to get back inside, Your Worship," Charter said, prompting Rosalie to move behind Bull and begin to change - he was about the closest thing she could get to a privacy screen just then. "The peace talks can't continue without the woman who saved the Empress, after all."

Only then did it hit Rosalie that everyone in the ballroom thought they had seen the Inquisitor take a knife for their Empress. The Herald of Andraste would be coming back from the dead again, it seemed. If _that_ didn't garner a bit more court approval, she wasn't sure what would.

"Did Leliana have any news for me?" she asked the elf urgently. She couldn't just come out and _say_ she was worried for Lila, of course, since she wasn't sure whether or not Charter was in the loop on that piece of information.

"Just that one of ours was hurt and is being taken care of," Charter answered, face too neutral to give anything away.

The Inquisitor had hoped for something a little more comforting, and a grim voice within warned that even if her sister were dead, Leliana would probably keep the news from her to ensure that she focused on salvaging some sort of peace for Orlais in the meantime.

"Thank you," she told Charter, then turned to look at her party. They all appeared to be about as weary as she was. "And you three. You really saved my ass back there."

Bull stepped forward to cup her face with both hands and kiss the top of his head. "You've got this, boss."

She smiled nervously, hoping he was right, then nodded and turned to follow Charter back inside. With every footstep, she forced herself to get into character. It would take a strong voice to make them listen, and only their cooperation could hurt Corypheus' plans now.

* * *

Leliana did _try_ not to pace up and down in the hallway, but it couldn't really be helped. Too much was being decided behind closed doors in that very moment. The fate of Orlais, of Gaspard, of Rosalie's ties to the Game and her family, of Corypheus' plans to spread chaos in the south. What was more, even with Florianne dead, they couldn't discount the possibility that there were still Venatori working within the palace to undo the efforts of the Inquisition.

Most of that was in Rosalie's hands now. All Leliana could do was plan for as many outcomes as possible while she waited. At least she was out of sight for the moment, and wouldn't need to worry about keeping a smile on her face. Cullen and Josephine were still in the ballroom doing what they could to keep people calm and to help the wounded. Leliana could have been helping with that, of course, but it seemed more important to guard the door to the guest room she was currently standing outside of. She was guarding the Inquisitor's big secret, after all.

After what seemed an unbearable wait, Morrigan poked her head out and asked, "Will you come in, or is walking pointlessly up and down the corridor part of some very important Inquisition business the details to which only a precious few are privy?"

Leliana just sighed, then followed Morrigan inside without a word.

"She will live," Morrigan announced, moving back to the bed. Her patient was out cold but her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that indicated she was simply sleeping at this point. "Though 'twould have been otherwise without my aid."

That made things both easier and more difficult, in truth, but Leliana couldn't help but feel relieved that Rosalie would not have to lose a sister that night. "Morrigan, there's something you should know..."

"This is not Inquisitor Trevelyan. I had noticed." When Leliana looked confused, the witch smirked. "When we met earlier this evening I felt the pull of magic most keenly." She picked up Lila's hand and turned it so that the palm was facing up. " _This_ is just an ordinary hand on a woman remarkably similar in appearance."

Leliana nodded. "A twin sister. One even the Inquisitor's other advisors don't know about."

"The secret is safe with me," Morrigan promised with a shrug. "Whoever she is, she saved Empress Celene's life. I was ordered to return the favour."

"Thank you," Leliana said sincerely. It didn't seem like enough, but she knew if she said much more than that, Morrigan would grow impatient and roll her eyes. "I should let the Inquisitor know the good news."

* * *

There were surprised gasps as Celene stood before her court and announced that Gaspard was to hold a place of honour in her cabinet. "We must stand united or we will fall alone," she declared. A strong statement considering how close Gaspard's own sister had brought her to death.

It felt so surreal to stand side by side with the woman and address the nobility. "We will save Thedas from calamity, but only together may we accomplish this," Rosalie added.

"We will heal our wounded country. A long road of reconstruction lies before us," Celene went on to say. "But tonight, we celebrate the arrival of peace. Let the festivities commence!"

From that moment, Rosalie's mission in Halamshiral was completed. She was free to enjoy the party if she chose, but with all that had happened, she wasn't in much of a mood for celebrating. Her feet carried her to a hallway filled with statues in the guest wing, a place few people seemed to stop. The quiet suited her fine, since the night had left her with quite a lot to think about.

She was so tired and lost in her thoughts, in fact, she didn't notice Mathis approach her until it was too late. His hand enveloped her throat and pushed her forcefully into the wall. "I wonder if you will be quite so bold without your oxman bodyguard, _Miss Trevelyan_ ," he hissed. The suddenness of it made Rosalie's heart race in a panic. The usual warmth was gone from his voice and there was a severity to his glare that she had never seen before. It was as though the mask had slipped from his face and she was seeing the true Mathis for the first time; a monster she'd only glimpsed in the past.

"You united them. You let Gaspard live when you could have pushed for his execution. Why?" he asked, easing his grip just enough that she could answer.

"I followed my conscience. I did what I thought was best for Orlais," she answered. Her voice didn't sound particularly strong - it couldn't given where his hand was - but she kept her chin lifted and pointedly avoided his gaze, trying her best could to sound certain when she felt anything but.

"Is this how weak you've become without my guidance?" he asked harshly. "I did not train you to have a conscience."

Rosalie somehow found the strength to look him in the eye. "Then apparently you didn't train me very well."

When his hand pulled back, she thought he was letting her go, which was why it was such a shock when he hit her across the face with the back of his hand. The force of it knocked her off balance. It was strange how clear the assault made things seem. He wanted to shock her, to frighten her into doing his bidding again. All it truly accomplished was to let her see the man she had really been serving all these years, someone whose kindness had only been offered so long as she was willing to do whatever he asked. Someone who saw her more as a pawn than someone to care for. Someone who would lash out when disobeyed.

She staggered back, clutching a hand to her stinging cheek. It was only then that she saw Leliana standing behind him, daggers drawn. She wasn't facing this monster alone.

"You have a choice, Mathis," Rosalie said, keeping her eyes locked on him as she straightened up to full height. "You can return to Val Royeaux with your tail between your legs. You can go back to playing your petty Game and doing what you can to aid your patron, Gaspard. _Or_ you can choose to be a threat to the Inquisitor and her work, and we'll show you exactly how the Inquisition responds to threats."

Taking that as her cue, Leliana moved in behind him and pressed a dagger to his throat. Mathis stilled immediately.

When he didn't answer, Rosalie glanced down at his trembling hands. "You're shaking, Mathis. Could it be that your decision to strike me was a bit too hasty? Did you let your emotions get the better of you? That's how bards end up dead. You taught me that."

"What of your sister?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Rosalie let out a bitter laugh. "You think I'd let her stay with the man who just tried to strangle me? She's coming with us."

Mathis was silent for a moment as he considered that. "And if I give you my word that I will not harm either one of you or hinder the efforts of your precious Inquisition, I am free to go?"

"The Inquisition has bigger things to worry about than what the bards of Val Royeaux are up to," she assured him.

Mathis pointedly avoided her gaze as he said, "Then I promise to stay out of your way."

Satisfied with that, Rosalie nodded to her Spymaster. "Let him go."

Leliana hesitated for a long moment, and Rosalie feared she would go ahead and cut his throat anyway. In the end though, she released him and stepped back.

Mathis glanced uneasily at Leliana, then turned back to Rosalie and bowed stiffly. "Inquisitor."

"Messere Travére," she replied, just as coldly. It saddened her, but killing him would have felt worse.

At that, he withdrew, leaving Rosalie alone with her Spymaster.

"Do you truly think you've seen the last of him?" Leliana asked. "He is a veteran of the Game. If he decides to stand in your way, he might make things difficult for you later on."

"Did Marjolaine ever do that for you?"

"No," Leliana admitted. "But then I have never been quite so noticeable as the Herald of Andraste." That she said in a lighter, more teasing tone.

For a moment Rosalie looked in the direction Mathis had gone, then turned back to Leliana and smiled faintly. "It's nothing you and I can't handle. We've proved that already."

That, in turn, made Leliana smile. "True enough. Anyhow, I was wondering if you could spare a moment to visit with the hero of the hour? She is out of danger now, and her healer thinks she will wake soon."

It was the best news Rosalie had heard all night. "Thank the Maker," she breathed.

* * *

Lila was sitting up in bed when they entered the room, looking a bit more tired and frail than Rosalie was used to seeing. But she was alive, that was the main thing. A weak smile came to Lila's lips as she saw them enter, and she set down the cup of tea she'd been nursing and offered her hands out to Rosalie.

"It's a relief to see you alive," Rosalie said warmly, holding Lila's hands in her own as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I didn't mean to worry you. I just… I had to prove that I was on _your_ side."

Rosalie hung her head. "You shouldn't have had to prove it so dramatically."

Lila let out a weak chuckle. "It was all I could think to do." Tilting her head, she went on to ask, "Did you see Mathis? Was he cross?"

"I did. I'll tell you about it more when you're feeling better, but you don't need to worry," Rosalie promised. "He agreed that you should come with us back to Skyhold. There might be times when we need you, after all."

Leliana interrupted with a polite cough before saying, "Though we'll need you to wear a mask in public. The Trevelyans have been playing along with Rosalie's deception to save face, but we wouldn't want to upset that by having a twin sister nobody knew about suddenly showing up."

"I can do that," Lila promised. "I'm used to it." Beaming up at Rosalie, she added, "I'm just so glad we'll be together again."

Rosalie smiled fondly, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sister's forehead. "So am I, _ma soeur."_

* * *

By the time Bull found Rosalie, she was standing alone on a balcony, leaning on the railing and staring up at the stars. After everything that had happened that evening, he wanted to check in on her. He hoped he'd be able to tell if she needed time alone rather than him there to help her relax.

"They ran out of that cheese dip," he announced as he drew up beside her. "Asked for more and they gave me this _look,_ the assholes." He leaned against the balcony railing and tilted his head to look at her. "How ya doing?"

She spared him a glance, then looked back up at the stars and sighed. "It's been a long day."

"At least we got to the end of it alive. That's more than some can say. Cullen's giving orders now, we're just about good here." He straightened and offered her his arm. "Come on. The music's finally got enough of a beat to dance to."

Rather than linking hands with him, she settled her hand on his forearm. "I wouldn't mind some company. Unless you'd rather rush back to the ballroom?"

The request made Bull smile. She wasn't usually good at _saying_ what she wanted, for which he blamed her training. Maybe that was something the two of them could work on together. "Nah. They're out of food," was all he said as he moved in close to wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

Bull head dipped down until his lips found her neck. He had learned early on in their relationship that Rosalie was particularly weak to his breath against her nape and his teeth grazing the skin at the top of her shoulder. Given all that had happened, it would have been completely understandable if she wanted to shrug away the attention, but it was a pleasant surprise when her head tilted to one side to give him better access. It didn't take him long to light the fire from there.

After several minutes of neck kissing and nuzzling, he moved his lips up to her ear and breathed, "Tell me what you need, boss."

She murmured just one word. "You." And it became clear that _he_ needed to get her to the nearest bed.

Their journey to the Inquisitor's suite in the guest wing seemed to take forever, since every time they found an empty corridor or a stairwell where nobody seemed to be lurking, one of them would take the opportunity to kiss or shamelessly fondle the other. It was too easy to distract her, and far too much fun to press her into the wall when no one was looking. The fact that it only served to postpone what they both _really_ wanted just made it more fun.

Once they were inside the room, and once she'd turned the lock into place, he lifted her up and pressed her against the door, smothering her initial squeal of protest with a kiss. She surrendered to his lips with a soft _mmm,_ and he smoothed his hands up her sides to cup and fondle her breasts as that kiss deepened.

His hands dropped to the leather belt at her waist and began unbuckling it. "The watchword. Just once for me, to make sure you're not so tired you've forgotten it," he breathed against her lips. She'd been harder to read than usual for much of the night, and more than ever he needed to know he was giving her what she wanted.

" _Katoh,"_ she giggled, sounding almost nervous with anticipation.

"Good," he told her, voice dropping to a low rumble. The belt was pulled away, but slung over one of his shoulders rather than discarded. He turned his attention next to removing the blue silk sash that wrapped around her waist and over one shoulder. He kept that too.

"What are you pla–" she began to ask before Bull interrupted the question with a kiss.

He lifted her up before the kiss ended, and smiled against her lips when she automatically wrapped her legs around his waist. Tamassrans and casual partners were fun, but there was something to be said for learning the other person and being learned in return, and the way it started to feel like more like teamwork each time.

Rosalie gave him a look of confusion when he set her down on her feet beside the four-poster bed, instead of laying her down on the mattress as she'd undoubtedly expected. "Should I lie down? Did you want me to undress you first?" she asked reaching for his belt.

Bull grinned, catching her hands to pin them up above her head. "All in good time, boss," he murmured, taking the blue sash he'd removed from her uniform and using it to tie her wrists to the bedpost.

In this position, he couldn't remove the red jacket she wore, but he could pull it open and plant a trail of kisses from the hollow of her throat all the way down to her bellybutton. And he could _certainly_ tug down her breastband to free and fondle her breasts.

Kneeling before her, he worked on removing her boots and her pants, taking special care to stroke her hips and thighs, and even that sensitive spot at the backs of her knees that he'd discovered. He adored watching how a slow and careful buildup made her squirm, and how sensitive it made her to his every touch.

Then he took the belt he'd removed and used it to bind her ankles to the bedpost as well. Now she was truly at his mercy, and quite the sight to behold, dressed in nothing but a jacket and her underwear. He gave her a teasing bite on the outer thigh, then rose to his feet to look down at her with a slow grin. "Comfortable, boss?"

"Fine, thank you," she answered, tugging at her bonds to test them and finding herself quite trapped. "Though I wonder if this would be more fun for you if we were _in_ the bed."

She whimpered as he slid a hand into her smalls to circle his thumb around her nub, finding her slick with anticipation already. "I'll make you a deal, boss," he murmured. He lifted his free hand to tuck a finger under her chin and make her look him in the eyes. "No games tonight. We'll do what I want first, and while we're doing that, you're going to tell me what _you_ want. Sound good?"

"Wha… What do you want?" she breathed, hips squirming in response to his torment.

He smiled, stroking his hand down her cheek. "I want to make you come so hard right here that your legs go weak and all that's still holding you up by the end is the rope around your wrists and my hand right here," he answered. Given that he couldn't part her legs, he had to shift his hand to a slightly awkward angle in order to slip a finger inside her. Rosalie moaned, her eyes closing tightly. "What do _you_ want?"

" _Mmmm_ , yes, that," she gasped, head turning to one side as a flush came to the apples of her cheeks.

"Ah, ah, ah," he chided gently even as his thumb and finger worked to make her moan. "That's cheating." A tug on her hair forced her head back into position to look up at him, but that didn't help while her eyes were still shut. "You have to look at me and tell me what you want."

When she only whimpered happily in response, enjoying his fingers too much to really respond properly, he stilled his hand and let his voice drop to a low growl. He wasn't going to let her come until she'd given her answer. "What do you want, Rosalie?"

He watched her fight heavy eyelids to meet his gaze. "I… I… _mmm_ …" He could tell just by the flush spreading down her neck and the way her thighs quivered that she was close to coming.

"No more games tonight, boss. If you want something, you have to _ask_ for it." he urged.

"I want you to call me by my _real_ name," she answered, breath coming shallow now. "Not Rosalie. _He_ named me that."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, since that wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind. He could tell the request was significant for her. "What's your real name?"

It took her several breaths to find it in her to answer, "Annarose."

The name made her smile. It suited her better somehow. It fit the person she showed him when they were alone together, and he was touched that she would share it with him. "Well then…" He leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Won't you come for me, Annarose?"

At that, his fingers began to move again, urging Rosalie towards a swift climax. The sight was spectacular.

* * *

As dawn broke the next morning, Rosalie lay on her side, one arm stretched up so that she could idly trace her fingers along one of Bull's horns. His arms were wrapped around her snugly, making her feel warm, safe and cherished. Making her feel like she could relax and let her worries go for as long as he held her.

She found herself thinking about how grateful she was for Bull and how much he meant to her. She found herself pondering the three words she wished she could say to him, only she wasn't sure he would know what to do with them. She wasn't even sure she knew how to say them and truly _mean_ them. They were a pair of liars trained to disbelieve every word spoken to them, not to mention that Bull came from a people who didn't really _do_ romance.

 _For someone you really care about, there is this old tradition,_ she recalled him saying once in the tavern. _You find a dragon's tooth, break it in half, and you each wear a piece. Then, no matter how far apart life takes you, you're always together._

At the time, she hadn't pondered it too closely, but now that she thought about it… Bull was a person who chose his words carefully. If the thought of that kind of gesture made him uncomfortable, he wouldn't have mentioned it.

"You know, we should probably do something about that dragon we saw near Redcliffe the next time we're out that way," she murmured, squeezing herself a bit closer to him.

Bull looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and she couldn't tell if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking or was just stunned that she'd actually suggested that they fight a dragon. Suddenly a grin split his face and he said, "You sure we're ready for that, boss?"

Rosalie had to chuckle at how little that answer gave away. "After this place? I feel like there's nothing you and I can't take on together." She truly meant that, too. With Bull's support and their success in stopping Florianne, she felt more secure in her role as Inquisitor than ever before. Corypheus was going to need to watch his back.

"I'm glad you feel that way," Bull murmured, squeezing her closer as a hand moved down to stroke her bare hip.

She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bull nodded to the ceiling above them. "Because I have an interesting idea involving some rope and that chandelier up there, if you're feeling brave," he said in that low voice, the one that made her toes curl in anticipation.

Suddenly she got the feeling that the Inquisition was going to end up paying for a few repairs to her suite before their return to Skyhold. Not that she really cared in that moment.

* * *

 _ **Author's note:**_ _Thanks to everyone who gave this a read. I hope you enjoyed the story! Special thanks to tklivory for being my beta on this._ _That's the end of Rosalie's tale for now, but if you'd like to read what happens when they kill the dragon, you can check out my short story, Tent Time._


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